Monsters
by flah7
Summary: During a routine mapping of an abandoned part of the city Beckett and McKay run into trouble. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Monsters SGA

Author: Heatherf

Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made

Characters: McKay and Beckett and then the others

Warnings: Some violence, some cursing.

Warnings2: I've been distracted lately

Thanks: MegT because she knows grammar. I don't.

All mistakes in this story are mine, and I like them.

Rating: General

Spoilers: This was written before Sheppard turned into the wall scaling, lizard creature thing. It is incorporated into the story in tiny bits. Any misses with his lizardness is due to my not going back and adjusting it after the Lizard ep aired.

Any similarities to other stories is pure coincidental. This has been sitting around for a few weeks.

I borrowed the idea of Zelenka and his 'illegal' still. I hope that is okay.

——————————————————————

Part 1

McKay and Beckett stood shoulder to shoulder facing the closed doors that marked the beginning of the abandoned, uninhabited section of the city that they were to explore and map.

Two clean cut marines stood slightly behind the pair waiting patiently. Sheppard had warned them that traveling with McKay and Beckett could be mind numbing and would be considered hazard duty. The Colonel had promised the two marines extra time off on the next duty rotation.

"Why do we have to do this?" Rodney whined as he stepped forward and pried a control panel away from the wall with practiced ease.

"To make your life Hell," Carson answered, "and apparently Dr. Weir wishes to drag me down with you." The Chief Medical Officer re-adjusted the black canvas shoulder bag, pushing it behind his back with his forearm. The supplies inside banged annoyingly against his lower back and then the bag slid to its previous position under his arm at the point of his hip. He tried to ignore it.

He caught sight of the two near mute marines behind him and offered them an apologetic smile. This little adventure was not going to pleasant for any one.

McKay grunted and manipulated the crystals that would allow him to override the mechanisms that kept the door sealed.

"Oh, and going with you is the highlight of my day?" McKay's words dripped with sarcasm.

"Could be worse, Rodney," Carson reminded with a hint of tired resignation. This day was going to be hell.

"How could it possibly be worse?" McKay mumbled out around the crystal he held in his teeth as he switched the placement of two others. A few rather nasty scenarios ran rampart through his head making it abundantly clear in mental color exactly how much worse it could be. He was unwilling, however, to admit that to the Scotsman.

"You could be teamed with Kavanagh," Beckett pointed out casually, pulling his trump card.

McKay paused in manipulating the crystals and once again grunted. He hadn't thought of that. He had been thinking more along the lines of drowning, becoming a Wraith entree, getting shot by medieval weapons and other things of that nature. However, he was unwilling to concede that he had missed the particularly deplorable scenario involving being teamed with Kavanagh and ignored the comment hoping that his silence was enough to discourage further conversation.

The marines nodded their silent agreement and shared relieved looks. Kavanagh was an arrogant ass most times, worse than Dr. McKay, because even though McKay had arrogance down to an art form, when a situation deteriorated to gun fire, bow and arrow attacks, spears and such the man listened. Kavanagh could not seem to switch gears from giving orders to taking them when a military situation arose and his inability and lack of cooperation often times put marines' lives in danger.

Dr. Beckett, the marines generally agreed, was an okay guy to travel with. They didn't travel with him often but it was nice to have a doctor off world with you even if he did seem a bit soft. The man was willing to give his all and often times put his own life on the line to save a soldier. McKay had too. It made traveling with the two doctors more bearable and dealing with their steady conversation tolerable.

The silence that stretched between the two scientists had the marines relishing the quiet.

Beckett simply chuckled, realizing silence meant a victory for him in his and McKay's mild verbal sparring. Of course, Rodney was still sucking on Ancient crystals, but that had never kept the man quiet before.

McKay let a small smile crease his features. It had been the first time in a long month since anyone had heard Beckett laugh, let alone see a true smile.

Sheppard had commented on Beckett's lack of humor ten days ago. The Colonel's complaints and usual reluctance to submit to a post mission physical were met with short tempered, brogue laced, cutting remarks instead of the easy going tolerance they had all grown used to when dealing with the Scotsman.

It sparked curiosity but any inquiry into what was bothering Beckett was met with redirection or denial.

The damn man could be a stone wall if he put his mind to it.

Rodney had shrugged the ill temper off. Perhaps it was a bad letter from home, in which case, McKay didn't have much sympathy for it. He never got letters from home. No one from home knew where he was nor did they seem to care. Rodney prided himself with the constant reminder that it was in fact mutual. He never received nor did he ever send a letter on mail day. Who would he write too? His sister Jeannie? She never acknowledged his video--why would he set himself up for another possible snubbing. What was the point? Where was the benefit?

If Beckett wanted to feel sorry for himself because his 'mum' sent him a stern letter or forgot to write him then so be it. Carson was a big boy and didn't need to be hanging on the skirts of his mother any longer. Hell Rodney couldn't remember the last time he ever depended on his mother for anything, except maybe a stern talking to if she ever had the mind to be concerned about his activities.

Rodney mentally shrugged he didn't have the patience for people feeling sorry for themselves when letters from home were disappointing.

What did they expect?

The Daedalus had come and gone, dropped supplies and handed out mail. The three days that the Daedalus normally orbited around Atlantis were met with good cheer and something akin to relief--except maybe for Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir.

The Daedalus, or more fittingly, her commanding officer, was more of a nightmare than a relief.

McKay cast a sideways glance at his teammate and wondered if Sheppard and Weir hadn't sent him off with Beckett in hopes of getting the man to open up about whatever was bothering him. Surely the two commanding officers knew better than to send him. Rodney didn't understand why people didn't gravitate toward him, but he recognized it and accepted it and it just proved to him that the rest of the human race was flawed.

"Here we go," Rodney announced and placed the last crystal in place and stood back.

The doors, as expected, slid open.

The thick smell of wet, stagnant air hit them like a wall.

The two doctors stared into the darkened, moisture ridden halls that had yet to be explored.

Rodney and Carson both twisted on their flash lights and played them against the walls and down the exceedingly dark corridor. The thick blackness seemed to swallow the beams before they reached the far end of the dank hallway.

The lights criss-crossed one another as they were directed up and down the walls and across the puddled floor. Light reflected back at the two scientists periodically bathing them in shallow reflections.

The hall stretched beyond the lancing beams of light. Water marks marred the once pristine walls and a heavy clammy smell pervaded the area.

"Shall we?" Carson asked with a sigh. He really had no urge to explore the dark recesses of Atlantis. He had enough to do between his responsibilities in the infirmary and his lab.

Beckett knew full well that Rodney felt the same way. The astrophysicist had made it abundantly clear time and time again after Weir had assigned them this section of the city--not that any section of city away from their respective labs would have been met with any pleasurable agreement.

Both men had gawffed and tried to refuse publicly and privately to no avail. The marines had already checked this section of city and found nothing of interest to report. Both scientists had more interesting research boiling in their labs. Scurrying around the bowels in the deep recesses of Atlantis reinvestigating something that had already been labeled as 'no significant findings', left much consternation in the two doctors. Their current works in their respective laboratories held viable chances of developing 'significant findings' that demanded their attention much more than the cold dark belly of Atlantis.

Rodney felt a cold coming on already.

They were issued their orders and sent on their way. They might not have been military but neither was Dr. Weir and yet her orders stood firm and they felt compelled to follow them even if it was with great reluctance. The two men were dismissed like disobedient school boys. And like errant school boys, they whined, complained and scuffed their feet at anyone who cared to listen.

"After you," Rodney smiled and stepped aside, letting the geneticist go first.

Carson cast a tired glare at the astrophysicist and shook his head. "Figures."

The marines waited patiently. Sheppard had told them to follow, keep the two out of trouble and bring them back safe. A simple babysitting chore. Neither Sullivan nor O'Connor were looking forward their assignment but the promised time off was a carrot they both cherished.

Beckett took a deep breath and let it out before stepping forward, leaving the security of the well lighted airy halls of the inhibited Atlantis behind. With a cautious step, he led the way down the corridor, doing his best to avoid stepping in the standing puddles of brackish water. He cast his flashlight beam to the floor letting it occasionally sway its way up the stained walls, searching for nothing in particular but feeling the need to investigate anyway. The little beam of light struggled to cut through the gloom.

Beckett peered over his shoulder. Rodney was only a half step behind with his own flashlight dancing this way and that, but even that close the darkness seemed to cloak and mute his features.

The two young marines followed a few steps behind, their arms draped casually over their P-90s. Beckett at first was unclear why Sheppard felt the need to send two marines along but in the thick encroaching darkness, Carson was thankful. He like Joey Sullivan, the young man from Montana who had a bacon fetish and Sean O'Connor from Maine who thought the ocean looked just fine from the shore line. O'Connor had once confided to Beckett that water was something to be drunk and wash from, not for swimming. Beckett had laughed then. It seemed like ages ago.

Nothing seemed funny now. In the thick darkness, Carson felt a pang of relief that the Marines were behind them with their P90s.

Sullivan offered a small smile of reassurance when he saw the worried hesitation on Beckett's face. O'Connor appeared as confident and proud as he would on a parade field.

The medical doctor felt only a twinge of comfort.

The heavy blackness envelop around them, sealing them off from the lighted sections of the city.

Carson faced forward. He felt his pulse quicken and breath catch. He didn't like this, not one bit. And he certainly didn't like exploring darkened areas of Atlantis with the Pegasus Galaxy's biggest trouble magnet by the name of Rodney McKay. They only thing they were missing was Sheppard. Put the two together and Carson as well as the rest of the city was assured something would get blown up or torched.

However, Rodney alone was enough to bring a moon falling from its orbit.

"We're doomed," he muttered.

"What was that?" McKay asked quietly, keeping his voice unconsciously low.

"Ah, nothing," Beckett answered just as quietly as the sense of unease increased and the pull to return to the lighted part of the city became more difficult to ignore. He peered longingly back over his shoulder and noticed that the lighted part of the city appeared nothing more than a poorly shrouded silhouette.

After a few steps he chided himself for being like a frightened child still at his mum's hip.

With the thought of his mother, his heart plummeted and his stomach knotted as a tortured breath caught and gnarled his chest.

The blackness of the corridor behind him suddenly lacked any real threat to him. It paled in comparison to the fear that had seeded itself just four long helpless weeks ago with the return of the Daedalus.

The ship would return in just a few days and Beckett, for the first time since the ship had been making appearances, dreaded its mail run.

——————————————————————

The working quiet of the gate room was shattered by a disembodied voice screaming over the hidden speakers.

"_We need a medical team!"_

"_We need a medical team! Now!" _

A second voice hollered over the first, _"Send back up! Oh God send back up!"_

The people in the gate room shared frightened looks as others began mobilizing medical and tactical teams without understanding why or where to send them.

"Sergeant Thomas? Is that you?" Weir asked leaning over a console. She could hear Sheppard behind her organizing a squad of men on a different frequency. It amazed her how he could go from acting like a junior high prankster to a qualified leader of men.

"Where are you?" Weir continued. More wordless screams screeched across the comlink.

"_Oh my God! Oh my God!"_ The voice screamed again, others could be heard yelling in the background, _"We need help! Send help!"_

Weapons were fired. The rapid burst of two P-90s held the blatant charge of panic.

"_Hurry!" _

"_No! This way! We've got to go this way!"_ The voices boarded on hysteria.

"Thomas! Calm down! Where are you? What's your location?" Sheppard cut in on the panicked communications.

Static and gunfire erupted over the small console speakers.

There was no answer.

The new Canadian at the console tapped furiously at his controls, "Colonel, they're in Section 3 lower level 2 near the North Pier."

Sheppard was already running for the door relaying the information to his men.

Weir kept her eyes glued to the console as if hoping by sheer force of will she could physically bring her people to safety.

The shots fired became increasingly panicked, the short bursts became longer until the unmistakable sound of an empty gun still firing clicked over the speakers.

There was a moment of silence and then a piercing terrifying scream of violent death erupted from the comlink, slicing through the gate room and all who stood safely within its walls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"You know I have more important things to do that walk around in the dark mapping empty rooms," McKay ranted to himself, irritated that he had to play at what he perceived as babysitting.

"You're not the only one, Rodney," Carson added tiredly. He held his light and splashed it over the walls of another waterlogged empty laboratory. It held work benches, glass instruments and bottles and a few console panels like they had seen in countless other abandoned labs across the city. Like the majority of the other labs, it appeared more geared toward basic sciences than weapon development whether energy dependent or biologics.

"It's your fault you know," Rodney chided irritated that Carson was right. They all had better things to do than wander aimlessly around the city mapping its every nook and cranny. Why not have some of the Athosian kids do it? With a little guidance in what to look for and stay away from, the kids would have had Atlantis mapped and surveyed in no time and probably enjoy doing it.

Children were irritating and unpredictable.

"Of course it is," Beckett's resigned concurrence clearly indicated anything but agreement.

"It is, you know," Rodney continued. "You've been pouting around here for a month, biting people's heads off, keeping to yourself, being an all around pain," McKay marked the room on his data pad and backed away toward the door where Beckett stood leaning against the door frame. "Weir and Sheppard probably sent me down here with you so I could figure out what's eating at you."

"Uh, huh," Beckett agreed disinterested in the conversation, "because you have such an open and warm friendly personality," Carson pointed out.

"Well, compared to you these last few weeks," McKay pointed out, "I've been the fairy Godmother of open friendliness." The scientist strode past Beckett and into the hallway "So tell me, what's eating at you? Your 'mum' send you a nasty note? Didn't make your bed before you left? Left dirty socks by the door?" Rodney sighed quietly to himself as he continued to walk. He hadn't meant for his words to sound as snide and as mocking as they came across.

Sullivan and O'Connor shared unease glances. Even in the deep shadows that enveloped the small group, they could see the quick anger flashing to the surface of the quiet medical doctor.

McKay's unverbalized apology was shut down before he had a chance to articulate it.

"Knock off, Rodney," Beckett snapped. "If yer so damn unhappy about it, why don't you take Sullivan or O'Connor here and jist go back to your lab and let me do this myself?" Carson grated, "I'll probably get it done a damn sight faster without having to listen to all your whingin'."

Rodney kept walking down the middle of the intensely dark corridor with Sullivan trailing dutifully behind him. Their flash lights barely made a dent in the overwhelming darkness. "Keep moving Carson. You're holding us up."

Beckett bit his tongue and nailed the retreating astrophysicist with a deadly glare, "Cheeky bastard."

The two scientists and marines headed deeper into the dark bowels of Atlantis.

——————————————————————

Sheppard, Ronan and Teyla snaked around another corner and came to a startled halt.

"Shit," Sheppard muttered. His eyes immediately began scanning the area, ignoring the torn and dismembered bodies that littered the blood soaked floor, searching for whatever might have been responsible.

"Not good," Ronan answered, slipping beside Sheppard and listening intently for any hint of sound.

Teyla hit her comlink, "We will not need medical. Please send more soldiers and someone to collect bodies."

"Parts and pieces," Sheppard clarified. He stepped forward, his P-90 at ready. He lifted a leg and stepped gingerly over a severed arm. Blood congealed and clotted like jelly on the floor and ran in thick rivulets down once pristine walls. The walls were splattered and sprayed at amazingly high heights, as if a mad spray painter had gone wild. It marked the power of frantic hearts as they pumped their last drops of blood as bodies died.

"Oh God," a young soldier muttered. The sounds of vomiting followed shortly after.

Sheppard hit his comlink, "I want all teams searching the city brought back in. Zelenka?"

"Here, Major," the Czech's heavily accented voice carried softly over the ear pieces.

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected, "I want you to start searching for life signs; what ever did this isn't human."

There was a pause. Back in the gate room Zelenka stared at his computer, trying to figure out how he would search for something when he didn't know what he was searching for. However, this was not the time for semantics, "Yes, Major, working on it now."

In the gateroom, Weir watched as Zelenka began typing in search parameters.

"Colonel," Sheppard muttered to himself as he stepped over the gutted torso of what might have been one of his men.

——————————————————————

"Did you hear that?" McKay asked, stopping short and jerking his flash light to the left.

Beckett was forced to stop short as well, landing a foot solidly in a puddle. His frustration rose a notch. "What now, Rodney?" His displeasure was not cleverly disguised. Water soaked through the seams of his hiking sneakers. He lifted his foot from the unseen puddle and shook it, muttering dark comments about girly Canadians that faint.

"Shh," Rodney waved his hand in a quieting motion, which neither man could truly see.

Beckett sighed tiredly.

"Shut up," Rodney hissed.

"You're the only one talking," Beckett hissed back. He felt his pulse quicken as silence blanketed the thick blackness.

"Shut up, will you?" Rodney whispered back. The urgency in his voice had the hairs on Carson's neck standing up.

The two men stood still in deafening silence.

Sullivan and O'Connor stepped around the scientists and raised their P90s.

Four flash light beams weakly cut through the darkness that blanketed them.

Eyes strained as pupils dilated, trying to capture as much light as possible.

McKay could hear the frantic beat of his own pulse roar through his ears. His breath felt unnaturally loud as he forced himself to breath through his nose.

Then he heard it. Clicking. Three clicks then three more. One right after another.

Click---click---click then click---click---click. Like nails on a floor. He had a girl friend briefly, all of two days, who owned a dog. It had long nails. They clicked on the floor when it walked across her kitchen. He never had breakfast in that kitchen or in that apartment, or with that girlfriend, for that matter. She wasn't much of a girlfriend.

The clicking sound seemed to be moving closer.

"Aye, I hear it," Beckett whispered softly. His voice sounded intrusively loud.

"Sounds like nails on a floor," Rodney suggested.

There was a brief pause, as the clicking was disrupted by a soft splash as if something stepped into a puddle.

"Or claws," Beckett offered.

The marines tensed. Leave it to scientists to come up with worse case scenarios.

"I think maybe we should go," McKay stated backing up a step with his arm out forcing Carson back a step as well.

"I think you might be right," Beckett agreed.

O'Connor and Sullivan shared a quick glance through the gloom. Commonsense in the face of danger seemed a bit out of character for doctors.

The four men began walking backward. Neither doctor articulated their fear of turning their back on the unusual noise that lay unseen before them.

Rodney twisted the material of Beckett's coated arm. The medical doctor gripped the shoulder of McKay's coat slowly tugging the man backward with him.

Two stepped together, each foot placing down simultaneously with the other. The marines backed away P90s leveled. "McKay, Doc. if we tell you to go, you go," O'Connor stated in a demanding whisper. "You understand me?"

Both McKay and Beckett nodded.

"He can't hear you nod your heads," Sullivan pointed out not bothering to look over his shoulder at the two civilians.

"Aye," Beckett whispered in acknowledgement and in affirmation to both statements.

Both held their flashlights aimed at the end of the corridor where it turned to the left. Their lights grew dimmer as they slowly distanced themselves from the noise.

"You got a weapon?" Rodney asked softly.

"Just my brain," Beckett answered.

"We're doomed," McKay muttered.

"Don't worry, Docs, you've got us," Sullivan nodded with a bit cocky grin.

"Oh great, bacon boy from Montana 's gonna go cowboy on us," McKay muttered while still stepping cautiously backward with his grip twisted in Beckett's coat.

"Yippie Kiayaa," Sullivan answered back. His humor was dampened by his tone and tense set of his muscles.

The four men strained their eyes, fighting the blackness that bled around flashlights. The corridor end was becoming increasingly dimmer.

They couldn't hear the clicking as they stepped backward as one.

"Maybe it's gone," Beckett stated with near muted hopefulness.

"Maybe…," Rodney's response was cut short when a dark shadow slowly stepped from around the corner and stood at the end of the hall facing them.

Through the heavy grey light cast by their flash lights, they could clearly make out the exoskeletal bipedal that stood closer to 7 feet than it did six. The scaled head and large vertical oval eyes held Rodney's gaze for a moment before moving to Carson.

The geneticist shuddered as genome sequences ran through his head. Thoughts of running PCR and testing the s16 mRNA flashed to the forefront as he stared at the heavily muscled and sinewy creature before him. He marveled at what appeared to be exoskeleton black plating. Obviously for protection, yet soft enough that defined individual muscles could be seen moving fluidly under the natural shield.

Beckett swallowed hard, frozen in place as the creature focused its gaze back on McKay. Carson tightened his grip on his friend's jacket, fisting and twisting it painfully in his clenched hand, effectively anchoring himself to the Canadian and pulling McKay further back from whatever stood at the end of the corridor.

McKay matched his grip.

"Claws," Beckett muttered to himself. Three sharply curved claws adorned each toe and finger. The doctor's eyes ran up the creature's legs naming the easily discernable muscles under the shiny black scales. Cranial tibialis, the Long digital extensor, Caudal crural abductor, names popped into his brain followed by their insertion, innervation and function.

Beckett sometimes really disliked how his mind worked.

He briefly wondered if it happened to McKay when he looked at the night sky and saw constellations or when he watched something power up.

"Think its vegetarian?" Beckett asked hopefully.

"Why don't you go down and test it?" McKay offered.

"I'd rather you do it; I'll take notes on my observations," Beckett returned.

The two marines shook their heads. The continued bickering was almost soothing.

The four watched as the creature peeled its near invisible lips back revealing rows of pointed incisors dwarfed only by obvious upper and lower carnasal teeth.

"Oh God, dead men standing," Rodney muttered.

"Aye," Beckett agreed softly.

"Go! Go! Go!" O'Connor ordered as he and Sullivan squeezed the triggers of their P90s.

With unspoken agreement, Beckett and McKay turned and ran.

——————————————————————

"What do you mean you can't contact them!" Sheppard lashed out verbally as he paced the control room floor.

"Something must be blocking our transmissions," The Canadian at the console explained just as heatedly.

The colonel whirled around ready for fight, "Grodin would have found them," Sheppard bit out.

"I'm not Peter Grodin," the Canadian cracked back, tired of being compared to the legendary and God like person of one Peter Grodin.

"Enough Gentlemen!" Weir slammed her hand down on a console. "Colonel, get some men together and go find them."

"About damn time," Sheppard hurrumpphed. His men were already together. Ronan and Teyla stood just within the doorway of the gate room and seven marines loaded for bear waited just outside the door.

"Anything, Radek?" Sheppard ask his tone losing its deathly edge when addressing the Czech.

"Nada," Zelenka shook his head.

"Let me know if you get something." Sheppard turned his attention to Weir, "We're heading out."

"Be careful, John," she said as she watched him disappear out the door. "And bring them back safe," she added just loud enough for her own ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

McKay tore down the blackened hallway his light flashing haphazardly across the floor and walls.

He listened to the short controlled burst of the P90s and felt his heart race as the bursts became more prolonged, erratic.

He heard Beckett's foot falls slow down.

McKay slowed too, splashing through puddles as he listened to sounds of constant firing. The first scream that ripped through the blackness stole his breath and sent his heart into his throat. "Oh God," he muttered.

The scream continued gaining in wild hysterics and desperation. The sound of a single hand gun being fired echoed through the darkness.

One scream died just as another adulterated one ripped through the area.

McKay still kept his grip on Carson's arm and was thankful that he had when he felt Beckett take a hesitant step back toward Sullivan and O'Connor.

The horrific sounds of unspeakable agony exploded through the black corridors, like a ball of flames, piecing ears drums and sending hearts racing.

"We've got to go back; we've got to help them," Carson was muttering, trying to pull his arm free and head back to the two young marines whose cries were abruptly cut short.

"Their gone; we've got to keep moving," McKay tugged on Beckett's sleeve. "Come on Carson, move," Rodney ordered, pulling sharply at his friend.

"Maybe we can help them."

"They're gone Carson, don't be stupid. Don't make their sacrifice for nothing," McKay yanked impatiently on Beckett's arm getting him moving again, "Move your ass."

"No, Rodney," Beckett pulled back, still staring down the corridor they just fled. They just couldn't leave those two behind, they might still be alive. They had to be alive. Life shouldn't be ripped away so violently and abruptly. People shouldn't die. Not like that. Not without their family near by to say goodbye. "We've got to go back," Beckett whispered absently trying to free himself from Rodney's grip.

McKay felt his resolve waver. They should go back. Sullivan or Sutherland or whatever his name was, was a crazed bacon fanatic, he'd trade just about any other type of food for a slice of fatty swine. McKay had seen him give up a cookie for piece of charred bacon. Insanity. He had a quick mind too, not as quick as his own of course, but Sutterland was teachable and could handle himself just fine in tight situations. O'Connor or O'Toole had a thing about water, McKay didn't understand it but grudgingly respected it. O'Tombe after all could snap Rodney's neck like a pretzel if he desired too.

McKay and Beckett flashed their lights down the corridor and watched in muted horror as the creature slowly stalked out of the shadows toward them with remnants of Sullivan's blood soaked vest still clinging to its claws.

"Oh shit," McKay muttered. He turned hauling Beckett with him and bolted down the hallway.

——————————————————————

Rodney rounded a corner, slapped open a door and yanked Beckett through behind him. The door slid closed just as the creature slammed into it.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder against the door panting.

"What the Hell is that thing?" Beckett asked wide eyed.

"How should I know?" McKay bit back between ragged breathes, slightly exasperated.

The creature slammed into the door again, shoving the scientist and doctor forward into the room. "I thought maybe one of your lab mice might have gotten away."

"You're the only gene altered lab rat that's running free," Beckett snapped.

"Look, I'm just saying that your luck with gene manipulation has had more things go wrong than right," Rodney stated frankly. The thought of O'Cavanagh and Sutherland being gone tore at his conscience. Another two men killed trying to protect him.

"Aye, well at least I didn't blow up a whole solar system, now did I?" Beckett retorted without thinking but realizing his intent was to cut. He struck out trying to ease the fierce pain that boiled in the pit of his stomach. Sullivan and O'Connor were just kids, maybe deadly, but they were just kids with mothers at home who worried about them. They were gone, wasted here in some abandon city by some mindless monster. Probably similar to something that he may one day inadvertently create and set loose. He was no better than a modern Dr. Frankenstein. The two marines were gone, protecting the likes of himself. Rodney he could understand, the man kept the city running, kept catastrophe at bay, when he wasn't wielding it himself. Rodney needed protection, needed to survive. Beckett? He was a dime a dozen.

What would Sullivan and O'Connor's mothers think?

"No, but you nearly turned Sheppard into a bug and managed to wipe out half a planet's population!" Rodney slashed in heated defense to what he considered to be his own fall from grace. He had lost faith in the eyes of Weir, lost Sheppard's trust for a time, and lost the respect of his fellow scientists. His equations and ideas were second guessed. He was asked for his opinions and that was all they were anymore, opinions instead of gospel as to what should be done. His answers were questioned, his math double checked. He was the go to guy out of habit but if Rodney wasn't around someone else could fill his shoes.

Sullivan and O'Connor shouldn't have died protecting the likes of him. He'd like to believe he was worth saving but truth was, he was no longer Atlantis's most precious commodity.

His one spectacular failure hammered home all the lessons of his childhood. He couldn't risk failure, or he risked losing more than just a few months work, he risked losing his friends and all the confusing strings that came with friendship. Friends lasted only as long as his answers remained correct. One mistake and people started drifting away from you.

He turned his failure ten fold back onto the one person who was just as eaten by guilt at their own short comings and obsessions with science as Rodney. He returned the favor and tore a strip off the one person who understood his drive and almost blind obsession with his field of expertise.

McKay hauled the Hoff vaccine to the forefront, knowing full well it still kept Beckett from sleeping some nights. Carson considered it a tragic catastrophe. The Hoffan's had acted and manipulated his work without his knowledge, Beckett still berated himself and the Hoffan's. Though the Hoff citizens overwhelmingly voted to continue with the vaccine, Beckett continued to carry the guilt of developing a vaccine that would kill nearly half of those who received it, not discriminating between man, woman or child. He had made a drug that did grievous harm and in the process killed a friend. It didn't matter to Beckett that the Hoffan's had used him, abused his work and stolen it from him, just as the young wraith girl had done, all leading to deleterious effects. His work had created, often times, more harm than good. No scientist or medical doctor would want that or risk it. How do you wake up each morning and look in the mirror?

No one wanted it thrown back in their face, either. Just as Rodney did not wish to relive his own folly or have his own achille's heel revealed and exposed for cutting.

The two scientists stared at one another gauging the depth of intent behind the words. Jaws worked against teeth and masseter muscles bulged.

"It's not one of mine, Rodney." Beckett's flat voice had McKay shutting his eyes.

"Figured as much, though it did kind of look like the Colonel for a moment," Rodney chuckled.

Beckett tossed him a disgusted look and shook his head. "Not even close. The Major was more blue."

The sudden banging on the door had the two men focusing all their attention back to searching for a means to escape.

The door shimmied under the steady onslaught.

"It's not going to hold," Beckett stated. "We've got to find another way out of here."

"Ya think?" Rodney returned with a touch of sarcastic ire.

"Where do you think it came from?" Beckett asked surveying the room, his eyes tracking the path of his flashlight.

McKay rummaged through the room looking for an alternate escape or something to use for a defense.

"Down the hall," McKay answered distractedly as he lifted a piece of equipment out of his way. He stared at it quizzically before discarding it.

Carson merely nodded, his mind already moving forward, "What do you think it is?"

"Why are you asking me?" Rodney inquired with a touch of indignity as he ran his flashlight over the East wall.

"You're the one with all the blood answers all the time, 'Answer Man'," Beckett shot back from across the room shining his flash light over an empty desk and chair.

"Well I don't know what it is," Rodney snapped, "you're the damn doctor and geneticist, you should know!"

"Me!" Carson slapped the palm of his hand against his chest, "How the Hell do you expect me to know what it is? It's the first time I've seen anything like it!"

The two were pulled from their argument by the sudden bowing of the door.

"Mother of God," Beckett whispered.

"Isn't here right now to help us out," McKay pointed out brusquely as he bent down and peered under a bed.

"I don't think hiding under the bed is going to save your ass this time, Rodney," Carson pointed out with a touch of panicked sarcasm.

McKay pushed himself to his feet, "Thought it'd be the perfect hiding spot for you."

Beckett scowled his features and bobbed his head minutely left and right in physical display of sarcasm. He then began a frantic search of a way out, trying to ignore the sounds of the creature throwing itself against the ever bending door.

——————————————————————

Sheppard, Ronan and Teyla led the seven marines down the hall leading to the section of abandon city that McKay and Beckett had been assigned to survey.

"I knew we shouldn't have sent those two off with more men." The colonel nearly spit out, "they'd bring down a whole city around themselves without meaning too."

Ronan stopped next to the colonel and stared down the empty darkened corridor that marked the delineating line between the inhabited and uninhabited sections of the city. "Wasn't it you and the little guy that destroyed a section of solar system?"

"Oh, shut up," John snapped.

Sheppard pulled his life signs detector from his pocket and held it out as he leveled his P-90 at the darkened hallway before him.

He brought the life signs detector up waist high, aimed it at the empty corridor and peered down at the display. Three dots suddenly appeared. The meter gauged them to be roughly over 2000 meters away, almost a mile. "I've got them." He furrowed his brow at seeing only three dots, "Looks like they might have split up." Sheppard knew it didn't sound right. His men would have stuck close to McKay and Beckett. O'Connor and Sullivan were dedicated soldiers and seemed to get along with the two doctors. McKay was even civil to Sullivan and tolerated the marine better than most. O'Connor and Beckett would occasionally share stories about the ocean and living on the coast. The two marines would prevent, at all possible costs, the two civilians from getting separated or hurt.

He stared at the three blue glowing dots that shimmered on his readout. Something was wrong.

He started to take his first step forward when the doors separating the lighted section of city from the darkened corridor slid closed cutting him off from the uninhabited parts, separating him from McKay and Beckett.

Sheppard stared at the door and then down at the life sign scanner. The signal was lost.

"What the Hell!" he shouted. "Open the damn doors!"

Ronan raised his gun and fired at the door.

The door sparked and flashed as energy sizzled across it's surface but not a mark was left on it.

"Not like that!" Sheppard bit out.

Ronan shrugged, "Thought'd it be worth a try."

"Zelenka!"

"Here Major."

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected without thinking, "get the damn doors open."

There was deafening silence as one of the marines stepped forward and began playing with the control panel.

"The city has them locked down, I can't open them," Zelenka's voice held an uncomfortable note of panic.

"Override it, gawd Damn it," Sheppard ordered.

"I am trying," Zelenka answered.

"Perhaps there is another way into that section of the city?" Teyla asked, her question reaching both her team and the group in the control room.

"Working on it," Grodin's replacement muttered.

Sheppard didn't hold out much hope.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"Hurry Rodney!" Beckett cajoled, reaching down through the grate in the ceiling, holding desperately to the scientist's forearm.

"I'm trying!" McKay shouted back, trying to curl his legs up and hook them onto the open ceiling panel to get enough leverage to climb into the duct work.

"Well try harder, you daft bugger," Carson ground out between clenched teeth.

"Shut up," McKay shot back, "you're not helping any."

"Dear God man, it's almost through the door!" Beckett's voice hitched a notch in panic as the door separating them from the creature suddenly screeched and separated from its frame.

"Shit!" Rodney cried and swung his pelvis upward, curling his knees in tight to his chest and miraculously hooked his heels into the duct next to Carson. Beckett pulled on McKay's arm hauling the man upward and forward into the ceiling knocking both men solidly to the floor of the duct.

They froze, unmoving, breathes held.

After a second they each carefully twisted off their lights and cautiously released held breathes, waiting in the stifling darkness of the ceiling crawl space.

They listened to the incessant clicking of curled claws on the bare floor as the creature entered the room. The door screeched as it was shoved aside.

The click of claws crossed the floor getting louder with each step.

Beckett shuddered when the desk was smashed against the west wall and clattered in pieces to the floor. He shut his eyes and pictured the creature flipping the chair out of its way.

They could hear it snuff, as if testing the air as it stood directly under the open ceiling panel.

Beckett and McKay held their breaths and waited with hammering hearts and clenched stomachs.

Carson still gripped Rodney's forearm, tightening his hold as the monster stood below them testing the air.

The clicking drew away from the opening in the ceiling.

The two men stared at one another without truly seeing each other, a spark of hope flashed in their eyes.

A relieved smile crossed Beckett's face as McKay released a small sigh.

Apparently the creature didn't know to look up or its sense of smell was not as fit as its physique.

Dumb bastard.

McKay felt like laughing, a giddy laughter of relief. It was amazing how incredibly stupid something could be—it was no wonder some living things had to depend on brawn and instinct, just make up for their lack of mental agility.

Stupid creature. It belonged in a zoo. Maybe he'd come back here with Sheppard, Teyla and Ronan and capture its ignorant hide just for grins.

McKay took a relieved breath. They'd wait it out, sit up here for awhile until Sheppard figured out they were missing and send out a search party. Sure it'd be a few hours, but Rodney came prepared, he had power bars stashed on his person. He had been a cub scout for three days, he had learned a lot and almost enjoyed being with other kids his age. Pity his mother wouldn't pay his dues to keep him in the scouts. He even liked the dorky uniform, even if he just got the bandana.

Rodney listened for the clicking, straining to pinpoint where the creature had moved off too. He heard nothing. Perhaps the dumb lug had gone to another room to search.

Mindless beast.

Suddenly the duct floor behind Beckett erupted inward with a fierce howl and the horrible screech of metal. The creature's boney head shot through the flooring, its scaly arms swiping at the body closest to him.

Beckett screamed and dove forward into McKay, knocking the astrophysicist backward.

Its claws racked through the back of Carson's calf.

McKay shoved at Carson frantically trying to push the doctor back off him. Beckett continued to try and scramble over him.

"It's stuck! Go down!Go down! Go Down!" McKay hollered, shoving and pushing the doctor toward the opening in the ceiling. Beckett resisted wanting to go no where near the thrashing howling creature that hung half in and half out of the torn duct.

"No way in bloody Hell!" Beckett bellowed trying desperately to crawl away from the opening and over McKay hoping to drag the man with him further down the duct.

"Go down, you imbecile!" McKay forcibly shoved Beckett backward and into their opening in the ceiling using both hands to drive Carson through the grate.

Beckett hesitated just a second as he caught the creature's eyes. He stared wide eyed, paralyzed with fear.

"Go!" McKay shouted out and stomped his foot on Beckett's shoulder forcing the doctor through the hole in the duct and back down into the room.

McKay followed jumping down and landing awkwardly on Beckett.

"Move! Move! Ya Bugger!" Carson scrambled out from under Rodney, knocking the scientist to the floor. Beckett reached down and grabbed McKay by the back of his jacket and hauled the limping astrophysicist across the floor and out through the warped and ruined partially hanging door.

The creature let out an ear splitting roar that shook furniture and vibrated bones as it wiggled and pushed its way from the tight confines of the ceiling duct.

McKay tried to turn left while Beckett attempted to go right. "This way, you daftie," Carson chided, hauling the Astrophysicist by his coat collar to the right.

——————————————————————

"Anything?" Sheppard and his men stood back in the control room waiting for Zelenka to get a door open or the new guy to find a different way into the section of the city.

"Nothing," Zelenka pointed out, "it is as if the city is protecting itself from whatever is running free in its uninhabited sections."

"Yeah, well it's not uninhabited," Sheppard growled, "McKay and Beckett are in there with O'Connor and Sullivan." The colonel paused. "Why didn't the city lock itself down before Thomas and his group got attacked?"

"I do not know," Zelenka said, "maybe the city did not perceive whatever attacked them as a threat?"

"Great fuckin' security system." Sheppard muttered.

"Well, the Ancients are all dead," Ronan pointed out helpfully.

Sheppard stared at Dex trying to formulate a suitable comeback but was spared certain failure when Grodin's replacement suddenly found something.

"Whoa…hoa." The Canadian said to himself, "what have we here?" Without looking up from his computer screen he added, "Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard, you might want to see this."

The group as a whole aggregated around the laptop computer.

"What are we looking at?" Sheppard's impatience was palatable.

"Watch," The Canadian said.

Six sets of eyes stared at the dark computer screen and then suddenly they saw two figures running down a corridor. Over the speakers the unmistakable Scotland brogue was clearly heard, _"Come on Rodney, keep up with me here._"

"_Go left! go left!"_ Rodney's orders were snapped between gasps of breath.

"Can they hear us?" The Colonel asked. The Canadian tapped a few key strokes and then paused afraid to shake his head but unable not to answer, "No."

The colonel shook his head and turned his attention back to the small laptop screen.

"Why the hell is he limping?" Sheppard asked not truly expecting an answer. Where were O'Connor and Sullivan? The colonel felt his chest constrict with the sudden oppressive weight of responsibility and knowledge that he had lost two more good men and perhaps stood to loose another pair.

"Perhaps he has hurt his foot." Teyla offered helpfully.

Sheppard shook his head in controlled exasperation.

"_Left,"_ Rodney repeated, _"No! your other left! You always go left when you're lost!"_

"_So help me, Rodney, shut up!"_ Carson answered, hauling the scientist to the right.

"That's left," Sheppard muttered.

"No," Zelenka offered, "that's right."

The colonel glared at the physicist.

"What is that?" Ronan's question had people leaning in closer to the screen as a solid black creature melted from the darkness of the corridor.

"They're dead," Zelenka whispered.

"Shut up, Radek," John snapped.

"Find us away in there, Zelenka," Sheppard ground through gritted teeth.

——————————————————————

"In there! In there!" Rodney shouted slapping a hand against the wall control sliding open yet another door. McKay couldn't help but think he would have to remember to thank Beckett for the successful gene therapy. It was coming in quite handy. Of course, the astrophysicist might have to admit what Beckett did was something akin to science, but not really true science. More like a hobby with potential benefits.

McKay's mind snapped back to the problem at hand as the door started sliding open before his hand even left a sweat mark.

The creature was almost upon them. McKay could swear he felt its fetid breath on his shoulders.

Beckett shoved Rodney through the door.

Rodney stumbled forward losing his footing and falling forward. He twisted around mid-fall and watched horrified as the door slid closed barely masking the sight of the creature swinging out with its arm and knocking Beckett flying off his feet and into the far wall of the corridor his flash light skittering down across the floor.

The door slid closed, cutting McKay off from Beckett and the creature in the hallway.

"NO!" Rodney shouted and scrambled doggedly to his feet, using the edge of a table for leverage. His grasping fingers hit long forgotten hand held ancient devices, nudging them just out of his way. He stood favoring his left leg and grabbed debris from lab work tops. He hobbled for the door. Without second thought, Rodney slapped the controls with the back of his hand. The door began to open. He squeezed through before it was even a quarter of the way open.

Rodney stood in the hall and hefted the miscellaneous ancient devices in his hands.

Beckett lay crumpled a few yards down the hall slouched, straight legged, unmoving against the far wall. His flashlight lay on only a few feet from his lax hand.

The creature loomed over him an arm raised ready to swipe down upon the Scotsman.

"Hey!" McKay shouted waving his arms over his head, standing with most of his weight on his right foot.

The creature slowly turned its smooth black plated head and glared over a massive shoulder at the man behind it.

"That's right ugly," McKay taunted, "you're looking at real life genius, right now."

——————————————————————


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

"What does he think he's doing?" Sheppard asked quietly. His earlier frustration at not being able to establish two way communications with the two doctors was put on hold.

"Saving Dr. Beckett's life," Ronan answered.

The colonel shook his head, didn't anyone understand what a rhetorical question was?

The five in the control room watched with mixed emotions as the creature ignored McKay and focused its attention back on the sluggishly moving Scotsman.

——————————————————————

"Damn it," McKay muttered. He hefted one of the devices in his hand and stared at it gauging its weight and his own resolve. He turned his attention back to the creature and Beckett who slowly started bending his leg as if he were waking up.

"Hey!" Rodney shouted again managing to put as much arrogance and taunting into his voice as he did when dealing with Kavanagh. He wound his arm back, raised his leg like any good little league pitcher would do and snapped his arm forward, whipping his elbow from over his shoulder and snapping his wrist like a whip.

The small round device flew through his hand like a fast ball heading for the catch's mitt.

The small ancient device whistled down the corridor and ricocheted off the creature's head.

The creature paused in lifting Beckett from the floor by the front of his jacket and t-shirt.

Rodney cocked his arm back again and let loose with another device. It sailed through the air, spiraling like a curve ball and landed solidly against the creature's slightly turned head, catching it squarely in the cheek. The device bounced off and skipped down the opposite wall skittering across the floor out of sight.

The creature dropped Beckett, who landed with a groan, and turned its complete attention to the human behind it.

"Carson, you with me?" McKay asked, backing up, favoring his left leg and hefting his last makeshift baseball in his right hand.

"Rodney? What are you doin' lad?" Beckett's slurred question fairly dripped with confusion.

"Saving your ass again," McKay kept his eye on the creature that had turned to face him. "Come on ugly," Rodney jeered. "You want more of this?" McKay tossed the device upward like a cocky pitcher taunting a batter. "Carson, get ready to run."

"Aye, what are you about?" Beckett mumbled, trying to work his feet underneath himself.

Rodney kept his eyes locked on the black beast that made a tentative step toward him. He watched dismayed as Carson's movements remained sluggish and uncoordinated.

"I'll be, uh," McKay swallowed as the creature dropped its head slightly and peeled back near seamless lips to expose a healthy row of teeth. "I'll be uh, fine," his voice cracked. His mouth suddenly became dry.

"Rodney?" Beckett's voice grew stronger as his movements became more coordinated.

"You ready?" McKay asked, drawing his arm back, his eyes locked sorely on the creature in front of him.

"Rodney?" Carson asked again, trying to push himself up the wall to gain his feet. Everything seemed to be spinning around him too fast and in too many directions. Nothing was making sense.

"Go!" Rodney yelled and whipped the device in what he thought was the best fast ball of his entire albeit abbreviated little league career of only two weeks.

He watched mesmerized as the small device flew from his outstretched hand, hurtling through the air like a bullet from a gun. He followed it, a smile playing on the edges of his lips. He would have made a fantastic pitcher if only he could have found someone to give him a ride to practices and games.

The device cut through the dark corridor, traveling a straight line and smashed squarely between the eyes of the monster.

The device fell to the floor at the creature's clawed feet.

The creature stopped its forward motion. Its head moved neither backward nor to either side with the sharp impact of the object.

"Oh no," Rodney squealed softly to himself.

——————————————————————

In the control room Colonel John Sheppard's, "Oh shit," verbalized the apprehension and fear that held the group.

——————————————————————

The creature tipped back its head and let a deafening roar pierce the area.

Rodney shuffled backward only a few inches, his legs refusing to move, unable to unscramble the mixed signals that flashed from his brain. One instinct whispered to remain still, perhaps he wouldn't be seen, others screamed for him to run like hell.

The creature's grotesque roar marked its charge toward the rooted scientist.

——————————————————————

"Move Rodney!" Sheppard screamed at the computer screen. "Move!"

Zelenka looked up from his console to stare at the backs of the group that watched the progress of his friends. "Yes, Rodney, move," Zelenka whispered without being able to see what was occurring over at the next computer screen.

——————————————————————

Rodney stood paralyzed as the black monstrosity bore down at him with teeth bared. He stared fixated at the discolored teeth that all seemed to come to points. He noticed the flared nostrils that sat close to the cheeks much like mountain gorillas he had read about one night hiding from the fighting down stairs as his parents tore verbal strips off one another; blaming one another for his very existence. He had read about mountain gorillas that night and had thought how lucky they were to have mothers and family groups to help raise the young. They had flat nostrils. The similarities ended there. He could remember that; he could remember that they had kind eyes in the pictures, human like hands and expressions. They seemed kind. Kind to their young, he had wanted to be a mountain gorilla that night, just for one night.

He closed his eyes waiting for the impact.

He heard it, but didn't feel it.

——————————————————————

"Son of a bitch," Sheppard stated in surprise.

"Dr. Beckett is full of surprises," Teyla noted matter of factly.

"He used to play rugby." Weir pointed out

"He is tougher than he acts," Ronan pointed out.

Sheppard furrowed his brow and stared at Dex.

——————————————————————

Rodney unpeeled one eye and stared for only a moment at the empty space before him.

Thrashing movement to his immediate right had him snapping back into action.

"Carson!" McKay turned his attention to the doctor who scrambled unsuccessfully to separate himself from the downed creature.

The monster let loose with another inhuman roar and slashed at the human who struggled just within its grip. Beckett threw himself backward, entangling his feet and stumbled across the narrow corridor flailing his arms, falling into far wall, next to the open door. His head snapped back against the wall with the sudden cessation of movement of his body and then bounced forward. He slid bonelessly to the floor gasping for breath.

McKay lashed out with a foot, connecting solidly with the creature's chest and knocking it back to the ground.

"Oh the foot, the foot, oh damn that's going to hurt," Rodney muttered hobbling on his feet.

The astrophysicist limped and ran his way toward the aimlessly struggling doctor and grabbed him by the coat collar. "No time for napping, Carson," McKay half dragged the Scotsman toward the empty room.

Beckett struggled to get his feet under him while he was unceremoniously pulled forward.

"Come on Carson," Rodney's panicked impatience had the doctor scrambling the best he could to regain his elusive footing.

"Get in!" McKay shoved Beckett forward, mimicking Carson's earlier move.

Carson hit the ground and rolled onto his side trying to shove himself to his feet while peering over his shoulder.

He watched dazed as McKay entered the room and slapped the door control. The door began sliding closed. McKay kept his hands on the door trying to hurry it along.

They had tried hiding behind a closed door before and it didn't work. Beckett lurched his way to his feet, slamming into another lab work table. Was the majority of Atlantis geared toward research? The doctor knocked into supplies sending glass and flasks skittering off the table top and shattering to the floor.

Beckett pulled himself upward and began searching frantically for anything familiar that could be used as defense.

McKay still stood at the door trying to pull it closed faster. Something was wrong with it. It was shutting too slowly.

Carson's fickle vision landed on a small device that he knew to mimic the ancient's version of a lighter. It took two attempts before he could manage to grab what he was staring at. He then scanned the room looking for the second ingredient of his forming plan of defense.

He saw it, and staggered his way toward a canister that contained a propellant much like what he used to use as a kid back home. With his makeshift weapon in hand, he tottered, bouncing into the workbench as he weaved his way toward the door where McKay still stood.

"Rodney." Beckett slipped and lost his balance. He slid to the floor catching his elbow on the table and halting his complete fall to the ground. He stared at Rodney trying to understand what the Astrophysicist was doing.

The door was closing much too slow for Beckett's liking, much too slow for McKay to be still standing square to the entrance, trying to force it to close quicker.

_Move Rodney,_ Beckett's mind screamed. _Move._

McKay suddenly backed from the closing door dropping his hands to his abdomen.

——————————————————————

"Get away from the damn door!" Sheppard shouted at the screen, "McKay!"

"I don't think he can hear you," Teyla pointed out.

——————————————————————

Beckett watched, blinking slowly, trying to get his mind to focus. He thought McKay had finally decided to step away.

He thought McKay had stepped back voluntarily, had developed a practical sense of survival.

He watched as McKay slowly turned toward him, eyes wide, belly arched inward, with hands clasping tightly at his lower midsection.

Carson read and understood the body language long before he saw the actual bleeding wound.

Blood trickled thickly with building momentum between McKay's clenched fingers.

He saw the blind terror and disbelief in Rodney's eyes, long before he recognized the door stop sliding close and slowly slide open as black clawed hands edged it back.

Beckett found himself moving past McKay, spray canister held in front of him and lighter extended. He flashed the lighter initiating a flame and then sprayed it with the canister. A ball of flame shot out with a tiny roar all its own, lengthening into a tongue and then a constant stream, coating the black forearm and clawed hand with dancing blue flames. The heat intensified turning the flame from flickering blue to red to a rolling light yellow.

The creature bellowed.

Carson continued to hold the flame and spray the canister, realizing if he held the two too long then they would likely explode and probably remove one of his hands.

The dark exoskeleton bubbled and boiled. Blood snapped and hissed as scales gave way and curled back. He drew blood from countless wounds and noted, somewhere in the back of his mind the blood was brown, chocolate brown. Methemoglobinemia? Oxidative stress? Oxidative poisoning? Perhaps an enzyme deficiency. Possibilities ran rampart through his mind as he sent flames repeatedly into the clawed hands that struggled to open the door.

The blistered arm disappeared, leaving smudges on the door and small puddles on the ground. The door slid closed, settling in its niche.

Beckett leaned his head against the wall beside the door catching his breath, trying to catch his balance and wishing his heart would quit racing.

He stared at the dark blood on the ground. The creature shouldn't have bled. The flames should have cauterized the vessels as it baked the exoskeleton. What type of monster were they dealing with?

A quiet voice broke his self indulgent curiosity.

"Um, Carson?"

Beckett snapped his head up and turned toward McKay who stood awkwardly as if afraid to move. "Oh God, Rodney." Beckett dropped his little armament of defense and tried to walk a straight line to McKay.

"Thought the plan was for you to run," McKay muttered and gasped in pain as Beckett lowered him onto the floor, supporting his head as the doctor gently eased him down.

"Aye, I did," Carson answered forcing a smile to his face as he lifted Rodney's black shirt away from the wound. The material peeled back. McKay sucked in a breath as his hands flashed toward his abdomen.

Beckett absently deflected them. "Easy lad," he stated, keeping his voice at a level tone despite the gaping puncture wound that tore a violent, jaggered wound through McKay's lower abdominal quadrant. Blood oozed from the wound, percolating slowly, holding the promise that major blood vessels had been missed. Carson looked up and searched the room which was lighted only by a single hand held flashlight.

He needed bandages. He needed to be sure the bleeding wouldn't get worse.

"You were supposed to run the other way," McKay pointed out.

"Oh, well," Carson fumbled for an answer as his mind flashed through a mental picture of what he had seen in this room already that could be used to help McKay. "I've never been much good with directions."

"You and the colonel," McKay stammered out, gasping as another wave of pain rolled through him.

"I'm not _that_ bad, lad," Carson defended himself, "The major would get lost in his own room.

——————————————————————

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected, "and I'm not bad with directions."

Teyla and Ronan both raised single eyebrows at the Colonel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

The sudden slamming against the door had Beckett and McKay jumping. Rodney cried out and rolled to his side, dragging his legs up to his abdomen curling in pain. "You better get out of here, Carson," McKay moaned.

"Knock off, Rodney," Carson mumbled as he tore a section of cloth he held tight in his teeth, "I'm not leaving you."

"Oh—good," McKay stuttered, relief filling his voice. He let his eyes drift close. He wouldn't have to worry about Beckett disappearing on him when he wasn't looking.

"You're a real hero, ya know that, Rodney?" Beckett pointed out as he worked the piece of cloth under McKay's back and up around his midsection.

"Really?" Mckay asked, peeling an eye open.

"Aye," Beckett answered, adjusting the cloth over the makeshift pad he placed over the wound. "Not many people I know, would stand and goad some seven foot monster and throw curveballs at it."

"Fastballs, those were fastballs, best pitcher in my little league," McKay proudly pointed out.

"Fastballs?" Carson questioned, "not much for baseball; rugby player myself and football," Beckett added as he tied off the strip of cloth.

McKay groaned and gripped Beckett's wrists as a sharp pain lanced through his midsection.

"Your dad teach you?" Rodney asked trying desperately not to pass out or vomit on himself; trying anything to get his mind off the twisting agony that gnarled his guts.

"Nay, my mum," Beckett answered with a flash of pride.

——————————————————————

"His mum? Rugby?" Sheppard asked turning to Weir.

Elizabeth just shrugged.

They turned back to the screen and watched as Beckett began pushing lab benches against the shuddering door.

——————————————————————

"Your mother played rugby?" McKay asked lifting his head off the floor. A sheen of sweat slicked his paling features.

His eyes tracked to the door as it was once again slammed from the outside. The door bowed. The work benches Carson had pushed in front of the door skidded a little further away from it. Beckett stood up and pushed them back flush against the door. It was rocked again, the work benches and Carson were pushed a few inches into the dark room.

"Gah, no man, not rugby, football," Beckett pushed the tables back and then wedged a stool under one of the benches. Rodney watched but didn't have the strength to point out to Carson the futility of it all.

"Who taught you to pitch?" Beckett hopped up on the work benches and stood stretching his arms up over his head. He weaved precariously for a moment before he managed to push the ceiling tiles away revealing a similar crawl space they had tried to hide in earlier.

"I read about it in a book," Rodney answered tiredly and let his head rest tiredly against the floor. He watched Beckett stretch precariously on his toes and struggle to lift the ceiling panel up by just his fingertips. His balance was shaky at best. McKay wondered if he should try and slide a little further away from the 'fall zone'. He really wasn't up to breaking Beckett's fall. "You know, it's a mark of insanity to repeatedly try something again and again that failed."

Beckett eased himself down from the bench tops and staggered a step as vertigo nearly overwhelmed him.

"Aye, lad, but it's simple genius that works insanity to one's benefit," Carson was pushed forward when the door bowed inward again, creaking under the onslaught.

"That makes no sense at all, Carson," McKay muttered.

"They say blood loss makes a person slow, Rodney," Beckett stated trying to catch his breath as lightheadedness threatened to knock him off his feet, "you're practically in reverse," Beckett pointed out seriously. "Come on, now, Rodney, time to get on your feet."

"You're not funny, Carson," McKay muttered out. "Where'd you learn the trick with the lighter and aerosol?"

"It weren't aerosol in that canister," Beckett pointed out as he pushed the work benches back against the door. "No matter, my uncle Liam; he showed me how to spray stripes on my cast once and light them on fire." Carson kicked the stool further under the work bench, securely wedging it in place.

——————————————————————

"He used to light his casts on fire?" Sheppard repeated.

Weir merely shrugged her shoulders.

"I would like to meet this uncle," Ronan informed them.

——————————————————————

"Your mother know about this?" McKay asked, watching as Beckett was once again shoved forward with the work benches when the creature rammed the door.

"Aye, she found out when I managed to catch the old hay pile on fire, sent the piggies squealing into the hills and ole Maize the plow horse busted through the barn doors and tore through the fence. Crazy, daft horse." Beckett turned and stared at Rodney, "they're suppose to run into the barn, not out of it." He spoke as if still pleading his case. "Blasted hay pile weren't anywhere near those bloody animals." Beckett shook his head in disgust as if the incident still bothered him. He turned his attention back to the sliding tables and the door as it once again shimmered under the persistent onslaught from the other side, "You'd think I burned down the town," Carson sighed. "It was a blooming catfish that busted my leg."

"You fish?"

"Catfish, but not since moving to Antarctica," Carson answered as he pushed away from the work benches and made his way to Rodney.

Beckett squatted down behind Rodney's head and slowly lifted the scientist from under his shoulders to a seated position. A small distressed cry escaped Rodney.

"I'm sorry, laddie," Carson apologized, "I'd not be much of a friend if I left you to die here." Beckett readjusted his grip under McKay's arms and heaved Rodney to his feet.

Both men staggered backward.

McKay cried out and both men would have tumbled to the ground, if they hadn't fallen backward into the work benches which were once again pushed away from the bowing door.

"Ow, ow, ow, Carson, no, stop, Oww," McKay pleaded in pained whispers, unable to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, lad. God, I'm sorry," Beckett muttered, angrily shoving the work benches with his hip, back against the slowly bending door.

He climbed on top of the benches, awkwardly keeping his grip on the scientist. "Come on Rodney, I need some help." Beckett squatted down, re-adjusted his grip under Rodney's shoulders, and then heaved with all his strength, dragging McKay up onto the lab bench tops. Beckett fell backward across the tables, landing just next the slowly creasing door.

"Leave me be, Carson; save yourself," Rodney whispered through clenched teeth, biting through his lips as he gasped for breath on the top of the lab bench.

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya," Carson spat out, his breath burning in his lungs, his muscles screaming in protest as he crawled back to his feet. He stared up at the hole in the ceiling that seemed impossibly far away. "You just love to play the hero." Beckett pulled McKay up onto his knees.

"All you have to do is stand on your feet, Rodney, and reach up," Carson coached.

"I don't like to play the hero," Rodney answered peevishly as he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the Scotsman.

"That's it, now reach up, I'll push you up from here," Beckett cajoled, helping the Canadian to his feet. "And you do to like playing the hero, you and the major both." Carson pointed out.

——————————————————————

"Colonel," Sheppard whispered in frustration, couldn't scientists grasp a simple rank change? "And I don't like playing the hero."

He looked up and ignored the disbelieving stares aimed at him.

——————————————————————

"I do not."

"Do to," Beckett stated. "Grab the edge---that's it---okay here you're okay," Carson lifted McKay as far as he could. "Rodney, pull yourself up."

"I'm trying," McKay answered.

"Try harder," Carson huffed, trying to keep his balance as once again the tables slid away from the door.

"Watch where you put your hands," McKay exclaimed, slightly dismayed.

"So help me God, Rodney, get a move on, or my grabbing your ass will be the least of your worries," Carson bit out as the tables screeched another few inches across the floor.

The doctor snapped his head in the direction of the doorway when it once again screeched and watched in dismay as blistered black claws curled around the edges of the door.

——————————————————————

"Move your ass, McKay," Sheppard whispered as he watched how Rodney struggled to use his elbows to crawl into the duct, kicking with his legs.

The Canadian winced when Dr. McKay's flaring foot connected solidly with Dr. Beckett's jaw, sending the chief medical officer stumbling off the tables.

——————————————————————

"Come on Carson, hurry up!" Rodney urged from the relative safety of the ceiling. He watched in dismay as Beckett lost his balance and fell from the sliding tables.

"Shit," Beckett muttered, pushing the work benches back against the door, slamming the door into the hands of the creature. It roared out its frustration and pain.

"Oh that's it, piss it off some more, Carson," Rodney exclaimed, staring down through the ceiling while lying curled on his side.

Beckett scrambled back onto the table and reached for the edges of the duct. He swayed as his balance once again faltered forcing him to drop his arms.

"Come on, Carson!" McKay breathed out, trying to pry his own bloody hands from his midsection and reach out to the doctor.

Beckett reached up again, stretching, trying desperately to reach the ceiling. He wiggled his fingers, curling them instinctively just as the pads of his finger tips gripped the edges of the duct.

The tables moved out from under Beckett's tip toes. He would have lost his grip except for the weak hands that grabbed his wrists. "Quit, lazing around, Carson, and get your slow ass up here," Rodney ground through gritted teeth.

Beckett hung from the duct with his chin against his chest, "I'll kill the raunchy bugger, I swear I'm going to kill'im."

"Get your sorry highland ass up here and you might have a chance," Rodney scoffed.

——————————————————————

"Dr. McKay is irritating," Dex pointed out.

Teyla, Sheppard and Weir nodded in unison.

No one heard Zelenka's soft utterance, "You have no idea."

——————————————————————

Beckett slid his legs into the duct and leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath.

They listened as the creature banged against the door again and again.

"So, ah, Carson, what'd your mum do when she figured out you lit the hay on fire with your cast?"

Beckett smiled with his eyes still closed, "Aye, I mucked out the pigpen, built them a bigger and stronger one, named it the pig palace." There was a hint of joyful pride in his voice, "fixed the barn wall, repaired the fence." Carson let a smile cross his face. His mum could be stern but she was pushover. She had helped him with most of his chores. He did, after all, have a broken leg, which he got fishing with her.

McKay leaned his head tiredly against the cool metal of the crawl space. He wished his mom would have taken enough interest in him to have forced him to do chores.

Carson felt his heart constrict at the thought of his mother. A confusing mix of anger and anguish rushed to the surface. He ground his teeth and held his breath fighting to gain control of the upheaval of emotions that threatened to swamp him.

"Time to go, Rodney; we can't stay here."

Carson pushed himself off the wall half crouched over, gathered McKay from under the shoulders again, and started dragging him away from the danger below.

——————————————————————

"Zelenka where's that duct system go?" Sheppard turned toward the physicist who worked dutifully at the next console.

"I do not know," Radek answered.

"Peter Grodin would have known," Teyla pointed, out feeling the loss of a friend.

The young Canadian sighed, felt his cheeks burn with inadequacy and moved to another laptop and began typing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

"Where'd you think this goes?" Rodney panted. The duct was ominously dark. The last flashlight had been turned off to conserve the batteries and hope that perhaps the creature wouldn't be able to find them.

But between the noise Beckett made dragging Rodney through the crawl space and the sound of his breathing, McKay held little hope that they would remain undiscovered for long.

"Away from that room," Beckett puffed out.

Rodney rolled his eyes.

After a few more steps Carson finally stopped and eased Rodney's upper body down. Beckett leaned heavily against the wall of the duct. He was nauseated from the exertion and a crushing headache that pierced his eyes.

"Why're we stopping?" Rodney asked, carefully craning his head to stare at the doctor.

"I need a rest," Carson explained.

"I thought you highlanders were tough," Rodney gritted out, "Burning casts and chasing sheep."

"I swear, Rodney, you are an irritating ass."

"Still doesn't answer my question." McKay knotted a bloody fist into his wound.

"You didn't ask one," Beckett snapped back, trying hard to catch his breath. His back and shoulders ached miserably and his legs shook from exertion.

"Thought you came from a line of fishermen?" Rodney pointed out.

"Aye, my dad and a bucket full of uncles were fishermen," Beckett clarified, "I am not."

"Your mom a fisherman too?" McKay joked.

An uncomfortable and tense silence met his remark. It stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time, nearly forcing an apology from McKay.

"Aye, she was hell of catfish person," Carson answered reverently. "We'd go catfishing together along the muddy banks of the creek just behind our home." Beckett leaned his head back against the cool material of the duct and closed his eyes, adding a deeper sense to the blackness around him. His stomach swam and vertigo swamped him. He swallowed carefully and opened his eyes. Carson could remember those horrible days spent struggling through his work, fighting for every page he read, every patient he treated. But at night, when he'd wander home, his mom would be waiting with a wicker basket and their fishing poles. She always seemed to know when he was at his wits end and on those nights she'd meet him at the door, put the pole in his hands, and together they'd go fishing, no matter his protests.

"Hey, you ready? That goon still out there," Rodney whispered, shattering Beckett's memories of home.

McKay didn't want to hear anymore about Beckett's perfect childhood. He survived just fine with parents who tried to shed him off like beaded rain off an umbrella.

Without a word, Beckett pushed himself slightly unsteadily to his feet and, with a groan, reached for McKay.

They traveled silently through the ducts in near suffocating darkness. Their harsh breath seemed intrusive. The deafening silence was getting to Beckett.

"Did you know Ostriches and pigeons don't have gall bladders?" Carson asked.

Rodney was taken aback by the non-sequitor. "Why would you even know something like that?" Rodney asked slightly frightened--perhaps Beckett had been hit a bit harder on the head than McKay originally suspected.

"I read it once, some psittiscines lack gall bladders too." Carson paused gasping for breath speaking had stolen, "no use running post prandalial bile acids on them."

"You're a freak Carson, you know that? A freak."

"Aye, maybe, but you'd be the one to know," Beckett pointed out.

——————————————————————

Sheppard stared at the others, "I never really thought about it."

"What is an Ostrich?" Telya inquired

"A big bird," Zelenka offered.

"Can it be eaten?" Ronan asked.

The new Canadian shot sideway glances at the others and hunkered down closer to his computer.

——————————————————————

Beckett shuffled backward through the duct, dragging McKay with him.

He could feel the slight shivers that shook McKay's frame and could imagine that the body was beginning to shunt blood from the extremities to the central core, increase muscle tremors, all in an attempt to raise body heat. He was developing an infection and going into shock.

Carson kept trudging backward, unsure how to get back to the lighted part of the city but knowing Rodney needed help and soon.

"Please, Carson, stop," Rodney muttered. His voice effectively conveyed his pain and weakness.

Beckett nodded to himself and gently eased McKay to the ground, "Aye, Rodney, we'll stop, but just for a bit."

"Any more bizarre bird facts?" Rodney mumbled.

"Aye, if you do a pancreatectomy on a carnivorous bird they become hyperglycemic, virtually diabetic because their pancreas is more geared to insulin production, but if you remover the pancreas from a granivorous bird they become hypoglycemic because their pancreas are more geared toward glucogen production.

"Stop, Carson, just, just, stop talking, please," Rodney muttered closing his eyes, "I'm sorry I asked."

"Aye, they're good deep fried too." Beckett muttered to himself. He groaned as he bent over to lift McKay's shoulder again to start to drag him further away from monster that hunted them.

"Pancreas or the birds?"

"Both."

——————————————————————

"That's disgusting," Sheppard stated making a face at the screen. He'd make it a point not to eat anything else that he didn't recognize in one of Mrs. Beckett's care packages. Sheppard paused and furrowed his brow. Mrs. Beckett hadn't sent one last month, or else the doc was hoarding it.

"I've got them," the young Canadian announced.

As a group Sheppard, Weir, Dex and Teyla moved from the blackened lap top monitor to the second computer monitor which showed two blue overlapping dots and a distant but closing third dot.

"Third level, section 2 near the West pier."

"Can we get there yet, Radek?" Sheppard asked, turning from the Canadian to the Czech scientist.

"Atlantis still won't let us in."

"Damn it," Sheppard muttered.

"It is getting closer to them," Telya pointed out.

"It knows where they are," Dex stated.

——————————————————————

"Carson, stop, please, stop," McKay's soft, winded pleas had Beckett halting again.

"Okay, okay," Carson placated, easing Rodney down flat on the duct floor. He ran his fingers lightly over McKay's wound and could feel the stickiness of fresh blood. He was going to end up killing McKay before the creature did.

"Think your mom would take me catfishing?" McKay mumbled between short gasps of breath. He rolled his head to the side trying to touch his cheek to the cool metal below him. It struck him as contrary how his body was cold but his face felt hot--even his breath felt heated as it coarsed over dry lips.

Carson sighed, "I fear you might have missed your chance," he muttered, separating himself from McKay and searching the area with his hands and strained eyes. "But she would have. She'd out fish the devil himself if given half a chance," Beckett chuckled, focusing his attention on a spot of dark grey just down aways to the right. Carson stared at it for a bit, his mind wandering back to his mother sitting alone at the kitchen table reading old letters his father had written to her while out at sea. "Think that's how she kept the memory of him alive," he muttered to himself.

Carson got behind McKay again, "Come on Rodney, only a little farther and then we'll stop." Beckett reached under Rodney's shoulders again and started his slow painful shuffle toward the speck of grey light.

——————————————————————

"He saying Rodney's going to die?" Sheppard asked the room in general.

"Maybe it's his mom who's passed away," the Canadian pointed out.

"No, She's alive and living in a small town up north in Scotland," Weir offered.

Zelenka's drawn out, "oh," drew their attention. It sounded as if he had made some sort of mental connection. As if an elusive concept finally made sense.

"You find away in to them?" Sheppard asked

The scientist stared at his computer screen, unsure if he should mention what he knew, which could possibly explain the uncharacteristic behavior of the chief medical officer.

"Not yet, Major." Radek answered. He'd keep his suspected information to himself.

"Colonel," Sheppard sighed tiredly.

——————————————————————

Beckett pried the grate out of place and set it aside. He carefully poked his head down into the room and searched it. His eyes adjusted to a deeper darkness, easily making out different shapes and instruments and tables in the ill lighted room.

It looked like a second infirmary. Smaller than the one they used in the inhabited side of the city, but this one had windows looking over the ocean. Their source of light.

The sun was setting.

They had been traveling for hours.

"Okay, Rodney, looks good, I think I can get some supplies and maybe patch you up a little better. I'll be right back."

Rodney merely nodded his head, not truly caring. His world had been reduced to a hazy plane of agony and random thoughts.

Beckett sighed, worry pulling at him enough that he disregarded his own safety. The doctor dropped heavily into the room below. He staggered to the side, bumped into a bed and leaned heavily on it, trying to regain his sense of balance.

——————————————————————

"They've separated," the Canadian reported.

"We can see that," Sheppard said.

They watched as the melded two dots separated and one moved away but kept within a few meters radius of the other. They listened as Carson spoke softly to himself, looking for supplies that might prove helpful to Rodney.

"Oh no," the Canadian muttered. He pointed needlessly to the larger third dot.

The five watched as the third dot seemed to move closer to Beckett's moving dot. The group listened intently as Dr. Beckett spoke to himself, gathering, supplies seemingly unaware of the impending danger.

"Shouldn't he see it?" Teyla asked.

"It's in the room with him," Dex stated.

The group turned as one to the computer screen which showed the doctor moving about the grey lit room.

They could not make out the creature either.

Then they saw it. It stood behind Beckett flush to a wall, its black exoskeleton nothing more than a deeper shadow with a hint of an outline.

"What the Hell is going on?" Sheppard asked, tightening his grip on his P-90 as he watched Beckett walk past the creature which stood camouflaged against the wall.

"Radek, find us a way in there," Weir ordered in a hushed, tensed voice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Beckett stood under the hole in the ceiling, "Okay, Rodney, I'm going to start tossing supplies up to you, keep still and I'll try not to hit you."

"Oh wonderful," McKay muttered, "now I'm about to be pummeled by medical supplies. Hit the dying man, why don't you?" His pulse roared through his ears. His heart beat too fast in his chest, as if fluttering on a vine. It seemed to careen wildly against his ribs. This couldn't be a good sign.

Below, Beckett chuckled to himself and tossed up a diagnostic scanner followed by packages of bandages. Having supplies to treat McKay's wound released some of the tension that weighed on Carson's shoulders.

——————————————————————

"Jesus, Beckett, turn around," Sheppard muttered as he watched the chief medical officer toss package after package of bandages up through the ceiling.

They watched as Carson rubbed at his neck and twist his head as if he unconsciously sensed the threat.

"He senses it but does not recognize the danger," Teyla pointed out.

"He's a Gawd Damn Scientist, they wouldn't recognize danger unless it came at them in a test tube." Sheppard snapped in frustration at watching Beckett just a few feet from the black creature encased in shadows.

They watched as Beckett rubbed at his neck again and then looked up to stare out the large paned windows. He froze keeping a hand on the back of his neck. He stared at the windows…and more importantly at what they reflected back at him.

"He knows," Ronan stated.

Sheppard knew Dex to be correct, as Beckett's eyes widened and his eyes focused on the glass, staring at the muted reflection that loomed behind him.

The colonel felt his heart race in what he could only imagine to be a poor imitation of the fear that must be lancing behind Carson's still features.

——————————————————————

Beckett kept his eyes trained on the window, observing the dull reflection of the creature behind him.

"Rodney," Beckett's voice had a slight quiver, "You're going to be okay, lad." Carson reached for the next instrument beside him, not taking his eyes off the window, "put the bandages on under your shirt. The wound isn't that serious, you've lost a bit of blood, though, but you'll survive it." Beckett fisted the ancient's version of a sterile pack in his hands and sighed. "You're going to be okay Rodney, I promise." Carson's voice was laced with promise and a confidence he didn't feel. Practiced reassurance rolled from his tongue, "Colonel Sheppard is going to find you. It's all going to turn out just fine, Rodney." Beckett tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. His heart slammed against his chest, sending his blood roaring through his ears.

He wondered if Sean O'Connor or Joey Sullivan felt like this just before they met their grizzly fate. He wondered if they ever considered the fact that they would not survive. Probably not--the young most always considered themselves immortal, usually right up until their hearts stopped and their eyes fixated on something only the dead seemed to 'see'.

Beckett stepped away from under the hole in the ceiling and circled around the portable table keeping it between himself and the creature who unfolded from its position against the wall.

He slowly turned and watched as the creature melted from the shadows.

They stared at one another from across the distance of the gurney.

Beckett whimpered and offered a sheepish smile.

The creature peeled back its lips, hissing as discolored saliva strung itself across bared teeth.

Carson whimpered again and suddenly shoved the gurney at the monster.

——————————————————————

"Get those doors open!" Sheppard shouted as he watched Beckett jam the gurney into the creature and then dance away.

Zelenka typed furiously.

——————————————————————

Beckett skittered back from the gurney as the creature merely tossed it aside.

It stalked toward the doctor, its claws clicking ominously on the floor. It closed the distance, taking it's time, gliding menacingly toward the human that merely backed away.

"Carson?" Rodney called weakly from above.

"Stay where you are lad," Beckett reassured. "Every thing 's under control down here," he lied, his voice disguising the near blind panic that nearly strangled his heart.

He slid to the right, trying to keep his distance as the monster circled around him. Carson crunched the package gripped in his hand recognizing it as a 10,000 year old package of gauze. Not a very effective weapon.

The monster shadowed the doctor's movements, closing the distance with the patience of a predator that knew it had cornered an easy meal.

Carson swallowed nervously, instinct screaming that the creature was about to pounce. The doctor pre-empted the attack with a feeble one of his own. He tossed the gauze package at the monster just in case it might have proven effective. A distraction.

It bounced harmlessly off its head. The creature stopped and shook its head before nailing its prey with an empty stare.

Beckett smiled weakly and shrugged as if seeking understanding or perhaps a reprieve.

——————————————————————

"Zelenka?" Sheppard hissed.

"I'm trying, Major."

——————————————————————

Beckett never saw the blow that snapped his head to the side and sent him careening across the room and into a bank of shelving.

The doctor instinctively scrambled to his feet trying to dodge a second blow as the creature bore down on him relentlessly. Beckett ducked, partially succeeding in avoiding a solid blow that would have had his head shorn from his shoulders. He collided solidly into a cabinet, denting its front with his shoulders and head. He slid to the ground, helpless to get up but knowing he had too.

"Carson?" Rodney's voice sounded again.

Beckett watched with blurred vision as the creature turned its attention from him to the ceiling.

"No, Rodney," Beckett gasped, trying to draw in the elusive breath that had been forced from his lungs.

The creature snuffed at the ceiling.

"Carson? You alright down there?" Rodney tried to open his eyes. The darkness of the ceiling duct made it nearly impossible for him to discern if his eyes were truly open or not. His pulse roared in his ringing ears. He felt horribly weak and nauseated. A fierce chill had seized his bones and he shivered despite his best efforts to keep still. He needed Carson. He needed help. "Carson?" He could barely make out his own voice.

Beckett heard the plaintive call and felt his blood freeze as the creature stepped toward Rodney's hiding spot forgetting about his cornered prey on the floor of the room.

The creature backed itself under the opening in the ceiling and stared upward.

It tested the air.

"Rodney," Carson muttered again trying to climb to his feet with rubbery legs. His efforts were as uncoordinated as a new born foals.

He watched with swirling vision as the creature reached up with both arms and gripped the sides of the duct as if to pull himself up.

——————————————————————

"Shit." The colonel swore, slapping the side of the computer screen, "Get up, Carson, come on, git on your feet," Sheppard muttered and leaned closer to the screen as if he could will the chief medical officer to move. "Get on your feet, Beckett!" Sheppard ordered from across the city as he watched the creature reach up and was about to lift itself into the duct where Rodney McKay lay hidden and helpless. "Come on, Carson," Sheppard nearly pleaded.

——————————————————————

"Carson? Can you hear me? What's going on?" Rodney's soft questions floated weakly down into the room. "Probably rolling knuckle bones or some other Voodoo thing." The soft thud of McKay dropping his head tiredly against the floor of the duct echoed down into the room.

Beckett watched through swelling eyes as the black creature slowly started to raise itself up to peer inside the darkened duct. Rodney's head, neck and shoulders would only be a hand's reach away from its grasp.

Carson would fail his friend. He had led him to certain death just as he had Sullivan and O'Connor. He had not meant to; it wasn't his fault. How many times could he convince himself things were out of his control--like Hoff? Or Elia? When would the excuse stop working? When would it stop being 'misplaced guilt' and truly become his burden to be recognized and not placated?

Rodney would be ripped from Atlantis and all who needed him just because Beckett couldn't find the fortitude and will to climb his feet.

He'd be forced to lose another friend.

Beckett ground his teeth and pushed against the wall, trying to separate himself from the broken debris his fall had created.

Rodney would die because he couldn't coordinate a simple set of basic actions that even a toddler could master before its second birthday.

He thought of his mum. She always had the strength to face another day, to raise a son on her own. She always had the fortitude to move one more step, uncover another smile no matter how much she might have been hurting inside. She always had a little more to give, especially for him.

Rodney gave his all to Atlantis and to Sheppard and his team. Sure, he always let everyone know he was doing it, but in the end McKay always delivered. For better or for worse, McKay gave everything he had to those around him when he committed himself.

Carson knew himself to be the hesitant one, the one to hold back. He feared going off planet because deep down he feared he would not have the courage to protect the others like they would protect him. He dreaded his science would be stolen and used again and more innocent people would pay for his lack of foresight. His hard work would maim and kill when all he desired was to help.

He had wanted to help McKay, get him back to the lighted part of the city, back under Sheppard's protection and instead he dragged him right into the jaws of a horrible violent death.

Once again his good intentions would lead to the tragic and violent fall of someone else, another good friend. He wasn't protecting people; he was inadvertently hurting them, maiming them.

With swelling eyes he watched as the creature slowly lift itself upward into the ceiling.

With a roar that emanated deep from within his soul, fueled with the pent of pain of realizing he had failed on more levels than he cared to admit, fearing the not knowing if his mother lived, but believing she had died, Carson Beckett bolted to his feet and charged across the floor. He purposely aimed for the exposed side of the creature's thorax and midsection.

The doctor rammed his shoulder into the creature's side, wrapping his arms tightly around its waist with enough force to snap ribs in an ordinary human being.

——————————————————————

"He's protective," Dex observed.

"You have no idea," Sheppard muttered.

They watched as the Scotsman charged headlong across the floor and tackled the creature around the midsection.

They watched in silence and then horror as the two careened into and then through the shattering glass window which over looked the ocean from three floors up.

The two disappeared, clawed feet and rubber soled hiking sneakers entangled before disappearing from sight.

"The doors are opened!" Zelenka shouted with gleeful success.

No one moved from in front of the computer screen which showed only an empty room and a broken window in the fading light of a dying day.

Finally a quite voice was heard slurring, "Carson? Carson 'r you alright?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Sheppard, Dex, Teyla and the seven marines charged into the abandoned medical lab. Guns were kept at the ready. Another ten marines stood guard outside surrounding a medical team.

"All clear! Get in here!" Sheppard ordered. He watched as the medical personnel stormed the room with cool efficiency. Without hesitation a small step ladder was set up and two people climbed up and disappeared into the ceiling.

"Well?" Sheppard asked in impatience.

"He's alive," A voice shouted back. "Now get the Hell out of our way and let us do our work."

Sheppard merely nodded and stepped back. He watched quietly as medical people swarmed like ants into the room up into the ceiling and onto the ladder.

The colonel kept a hand near his ear and listened in on the two puddle jumpers that criss- crossed the open ocean around Atlantis.

His attention was slightly distracted when people started crawling back out of the ceiling.

In no time, McKay was lowered down, bandaged, stuck with two IVs and portable oxygen. They strapped him onto a gurney and rushed him from the room. Orders were relayed and a surgery suite was prepped even as the patient was pushed from the darkened room.

The sun had set, casting the room into deep greys as night quickly soaked the sky.

A nurse headed for the door but stopped and turned, "What about Dr. Beckett?"

"He's next," Sheppard promised.

——————————————————————

A full moon cast the blackened ocean with silver highlights as waves rolled by, traveling in their own unhurried fashion for a distant shore.

A Puddle Jumper hovered a few meters over the water.

After a few seconds a man in a life jacket and harness was lowered by cable. A few feet from the rolling ocean surface the cable stopped. The man slowly turned in circles as a steady breeze blew from the west.

He held a halogen hand held search light and played it over the surface of the water, back and forth slowly making his way toward the support pillars of Atlantis.

The light swam over the large pillars and their horizontal aprons, illuminating the trail that searching eyes followed.

The beam swung over a pillar and paused. The beam swung back to the dark shape that sat leaning against the vertical support with legs bent, arms resting on knees.

"Doc?" Sheppard called out to the dark form stuck close to the leg of a structural support. Beckett sat on a wide apron, his back flush against the vertical leg with legs drawn up and head resting on his folded arms across his knees. Sheppard sighed with relief.

"It's a nice night, Doc, but don't you think its time we take this dog and pony show inside?" Sheppard gave his best Devil may care smile but let it drop when Carson didn't stir.

The colonel raised his hand held spot light and flashed it on the still figure. He held it steady until the chief medical officer lifted his head and was forced to shield his eyes and turn away from the sharp light. Sheppard hissed in a breath, seeing the dark telltale stain of blood that caked the side of the doctor's face and ear. The colonel immediately raised the aim of the light up above Beckett's head.

"Doc, you hear me?" Sheppard waited a moment, fearing the dried blood meant more trouble than he could handle alone.

"Come on Doc, answer me," Sheppard spoke, hooking his light to the harness strap near his shoulder. With the light secure and shining above Beckett's head, the colonel started to cautiously unhook the coiled light weight rope and life jacket he had brought with him.

Silence reigned between the small spot of ocean between the two men.

"I found him," Sheppard spoke through his comlink, "He's about 10 yards in front of me, looks pretty banged up. Can you get me a little closer?"

Sheppard hefted the coiled rope, mentally measuring how much slack he would need to toss the line and jacket to Beckett.

"Sure thing, Colonel," Stackhouse responded.

John tightened his grip on the cable he dangled from and felt himself get tugged along until he came to just within 10 feet of Beckett and his pillar.

"That's as far as we can go, Colonel," Stackhouse's voice echoed over the comlink.

"Good enough," Sheppard replied. The Colonel turned his attention back to Beckett, who watched him with a hint of confusion.

"Doc? Doc, I'm going to toss you this rope and life vest," Sheppard explained as he held the coiled end of rope in his left hand and in his right the life jacket and gathered slack. "I want you to grab it and put the jacket on. You understand me? I want you to put the PFD on when you get it." Sheppard looked across the few meters of dark rolling waters to the small apron of the support leg and stared at the Scotsman.

Beckett stared back, "Sean O'Connor didn't like swimming."

Sheppard paused at the odd statement and then slowly nodded, "I know Doc. I know." _Shit._

Carson nodded too and pushed himself tighter against the pillar. He eyed the water distrustfully.

Sheppard noticed that the doctor could not have pushed himself any further from the apron's edge and the water. In fact, he was only a few meters away from a larger more secure platform on another support leg, which surely would have given him more room.

"Rodney?" Beckett asked again, still keeping his eye on the water that lapped gently against the pillar's skirt.

"McKay's going to be okay, Doc. He'll be grumbling for you to fix him up in no time." Sheppard paused, "that was a Hell of a tackle, Doc. Think you could play center tackle for the Patriots."

Beckett absently nodded and cautiously struggled to his feet, keeping his back flush to the pillar and eyes on the moving water.

"Carson? You ready?" Sheppard called again, fearing the doctor was not truly hearing him. He swung the rope and life jacket back and forth gaining momentum before letting it go and sending it sailing in a high arc across the water to the doctor.

The life jacket and attached rope hit the edge of the apron and slid slightly in toward the pillar.

Carson cringed at the sound of the life jacket and snaking rope and pushed himself tighter against the support leg.

The PFD landed just out of his reach. Beckett made no move to grab it.

"Doc! Get the life jacket!" Sheppard hollered.

He watched as Beckett tentatively reached out an amazingly steady hand and made a hesitant attempt to grab the vest. A passing wave rolled by dragging the rope and jacket a little further out toward the edge, away from Beckett. Sheppard watched disheartened as Beckett recoiled back against the support beam, snatching his hand in close to his torso.

"What the Hell?" the Colonel muttered.

Teyla's voice sounded over the comlink, "Is everything alright colonel?"

"Hell no, Beckett won't reach for the damn jacket," Sheppard answered and swore as the PFD and rope were pulled back into the water by the lazy rolling action of the ocean swells.

"Damn it, Beckett, grab the jacket, when I toss it to you."

This time Sheppard noticed the quick shake of Beckett's head, clearly saying he had no intention of reaching out for it and settled back down on his haunches.

"Creature might still be down there," Dex offered from within the open ramp of the hovering puddle jumper.

"Shit," Sheppard exclaimed, suddenly pulling his dangling legs up away from the water. "Didn't think of that," He muttered. "Anything on the scanner?"

"No," Ronan answered, "but it's been wrong before."

"Beautiful," Sheppard's nervous whisper easily reached those in the Jumper. "Ronan, you have that stunner?"

"Yes," Ronan's confidence gave Sheppard a spark of hope.

"Beckett! Doc!" Sheppard shouted out again. He breathed a sigh of relief when Beckett raised his head off his folded arms and stared across the water, blinking as if trying to focus. "That's it Doc. Listen, we're going to get you off your perch in no time," Sheppard hollered. "Is Mr. Personality still around?"

Sheppard suspected the answer but it chilled him anyhow when Beckett started to nod.

Both the Colonel and the doctor were caught off guard when the water around the apron of the support leg suddenly foamed and then erupted. The black creature shot from the water with arms outstretched, reaching for purchase on the apron. Its curved claws dug into the surface and caught. The black shoulders bunched and curled as the monster started to pull itself out of the water and claw its way toward the Scotsman.

Sheppard watched dismayed as Beckett leaped to his feet and half turned, appearing to nearly scale the pillar in an attempt to get away; with no success.

The creature gained purchase and started to lift itself from the water.

Sheppard cursed and twirled around the cable, reaching to unholster his sidearm. He watched as Beckett suddenly change tactics and crab-crawled forward, lashing out repeatedly with his foot connecting solidly with the creature's head each time. The creature snarled and snared the highlander's ankle, stopping the kicking and dragging the doctor closer into its grasp.

Beckett attacked with his other foot. His hands curled behind him as clawless fingers scraped for purchase against the apron surface.

Sheppard watched as Carson landed frantic blow after frantic blow with his left foot until the creature finally slipped from the apron taking Beckett's right shoe with it.

It disappeared under the water. The surface quickly smoothed over hiding any sign of the struggle that had just occurred.

Beckett scrambled back from the edge to stand shakily flush against the vertical support.

"Holy shit!" Sheppard sputtered. "All right Doc, alright. I get it now. I get it. Sit tight."

"We got a problem down here," Sheppard directed his voice to the comlink. "That thing is under the water near Beckett. Looks like it's been trying to get a hold of him periodically."

"Shoot it," Ronan stated.

Sheppard rolled his eyes, "I can't, not without taking the risk of hitting Beckett."

"Then stun them," Ronan offered.

"Any other brilliant suggestions from the peanut gallery?" Sheppard asked with disgust.

He closed his eyes and sighed when he heard Telya whisper to someone in the puddle jumper, "What is a peanut gallery?"

The colonel's dismay was short lived when the water once again around the pillar exploded.

The creature threw itself half onto the apron and lashed out with a clawed hand, snapping Beckett's ankle out from underneath him. The doctor was unceremoniously swept off his feet. With a second desperate lunge the monster snared the front of Beckett's jacket and hauled the struggling doctor toward the water.

"Shit!" Sheppard hollered and began to fire at the scaled back of the creature. He'd risk hitting Beckett. The medical team was pretty good with bullet wounds. The carnage wreaked by the creature might prove more of a challenge.

Both the creature and Beckett disappeared under the water.

"Use the stun!" Sheppard shouted. "Stun the damn water!"

Sheppard watched amazed as Beckett broke through the surface of the water only twenty yards from him gasping for breath.

Ronan pulled his finger off the 'trigger' of the stun and bided his time from the open door of the puddle jumper.

"Swim! Carson! Swim!" John hollered and watched as Beckett tossed out a jacketed arm and started swimming frantically for the Colonel.

Sheppard kept his gun pulled and watched the chief medical officer put his face in the water and desperately kicked, slicing through the water in Sheppard's direction. Three strokes, breathe to the left, three strokes breathe to the right. The colonel watched as Carson cut through the water with economically fierce strokes.

_Faster, Carson, faster._

For a moment, John thought Beckett might have made it. A glimpse of hope flared briefly--Beckett was only a few feet away from him.

Suddenly, Carson simply disappeared under the surface just as he rolled to his side to pull in another breath. One second he was there, cutting through the water's surface like an Olympian, and the next he was gone without so much as a splash.

"Stun the water!" Sheppard ordered. Not even a ripple marked the doctor's one time presence.

The blackened waters, under the light of a full moon, swelled and rolled by with no hint as to the struggle that might be occurring within its depths.

Sheppard frantically searched the tranquil surface with wide, dilated eyes.

Beckett suddenly broke through the surface just below John, heaving in great draughts of breath. Horror flashed in his eyes, as he struggled to drag in great, heaving and choking breaths, clawing desperately to reach John's dangling feet.

Sheppard stared at the wild, terrorized look on the doctor's face and lunged down for the imploring hand which swiped blindly for anything to latch onto. Their finger tips brushed one another and Sheppard dove downward against the harness trying to curl his hand around the doctor's outstretched wrist. The nylon harness bit through his shirt and sliced its way into his skin. _Come on, Beckett, come on!_ John ordered quietly.

The creature lunged up behind Beckett and dove over the top of him submerging himself and the physician.

Both disappeared back under the black surface. White foam and spiking ripples marked their violent descent.

Dex fired the stunner, blasting the water.

Blue electric charges danced and snapped over the water's surface. The smell of ozone filled the immediate area.

The cracking charges slowly dissipated leaving the ocean silent and black.

Sheppard waited just a moment. "Lower me down! Gawd damn it lower me down!" He shouted when he saw the tan and yellow jacket that signified Beckett's medical wing float lazily to the surface.

The doctor floated face down in the water.

"Gawd damn it!" Sheppard exclaimed and lifted himself one handed on the cable, loosening the tension on the snap and unbuckled himself. He free fell the few feet into the black ocean water.

He swam three quick strokes toward the doctor and rolled him over. He pulled Carson's head back, partially submerging Beckett's forehead and forcing the slack jaw to part.

"He's not breathing!---I need some help down here!" Sheppard shouted as he readjusted Beckett's head, pinched his nose off and puffed three quick breathes into the doctor. He took some satisfaction in seeing Beckett's arched chest expand.

There was a splash beside him and soon Ronan was on the other side of Beckett supporting the doctor under the shoulders and neck, helping to keep him above the surface.

Sheppard re-adjusted Beckett's head and neck, and once again delivered three solid breathes.

"Breathe, you son of a bitch," Sheppard cursed and once again, readjusted Beckett's head and neck, keeping the airway open and delivered three more quick breaths.

With the last breath, Sheppard was rewarded with the sudden violent expulsion of fluid from Beckett's lungs.

"Arrggh," Sheppard whipped his head to the side and spit out the foul, tenacious fluid that had once been in Beckett's lungs.

"Easy, Doctor," Ronan's deep voice had Sheppard turning his attention back to the listlessly moving physician who choked and rasped in short erratic breaths.

"Send another set up down here!" Sheppard ordered and then added, "you medical boys ready to receive your boss?"

"Yes, sir," a young marine medic answered confidently from within the puddle jumper. Though technically Beckett wasn't their boss, Sheppard had noticed that the young marines followed the chief medical officer's directions with unfailing dedication and building loyalty. He wondered if Beckett realized the faith others had in his abilities.

"Good because here he comes."

A third harness was dropped down. Sheppard and Ronan wasted no time getting Beckett strapped into it.

"Okay, haul him up."

Ronan was lifted with Carson, supporting the doctor's head and shoulders the best he could.

Sheppard treaded water, his eyes nervously searching the dark water as he waited his turn to be air lifted. He kept his legs close to his torso, working smoothly but cautiously, trying to keep himself afloat without offering too much motion. His heart pounded as the line was once again dropped down to him, ready to pull him to safety.

He hooked the cable to his harness and gave the okay.

The cable tightened and he was slowly lifted from the icy water.

His fear heightened as sure rescue became closer.

He didn't recall himself hollering; he did remember with crystal clarity, the creature driving up through the water desperately lunging for his legs.

He clearly recalled drawing his gun and firing. He remembered counting every controlled burst Ronan and Teyla fired from the puddle jumper.

Sheppard held tight to the cable with one hand, firing relentlessly at the creature that had killed good men-- his men--soldiers who at times seemed more like kids that were under his care and protection, than skilled fighting men. They had followed his orders because they had faith and respect in him. They believed in him.

Sheppard continued to fire. McKay lay in surgery fighting for his life; Beckett hadn't been breathing; Joey Sullivan would never swap another chocolate, chocolate chip cookie for a burned strip of bacon with someone else just to aggravate McKay. Sean O'Connor would never again irritate Beckett into near apoplexy with the argument that 'Soccer' was the real name for the game and the rest of the world just couldn't keep up with change.

Sheppard fired until his gun clicked empty.

The colonel slowly holstered his weapon as he gained the edge of the puddle jumper. He sat on the floor with his legs dangling outside searching the blackening water.

"It is gone, Major," Telya pointed out, "Our firing removed its head from its shoulders."

Sheppard merely nodded and muttered, "Colonel."

He turned his attention to the back compartment of the jumper and watched as two marine medics worked feverishly over Beckett's lethargically moving form.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

Beckett's gurney was swarmed by medical personnel and swept from the jumper bay, through the halls of Atlantis and toward the infirmary.

John followed at a jog.

Dr. Weir met them halfway. "How's Rodney?" Sheppard inquired as Weir fell into step beside him.

"He's still in surgery. Dr. Morrison is handling it."

"Shit, Rodney hates Morrison," Sheppard pointed out.

"Rodney hates everyone who's medical and not Carson," Weir countered.

The two followed the gurney through the infirmary doors. They were forced to stop when a nurse barred their way.

"Please, Dr. Weir, Major Sheppard, no one is allowed in the treatment area during emergencies." The young nurse looked over her shoulders as the narrow stretcher carrying her boss disappeared behind a curtained off area.

They heard the three count and the quick shifting of a body from a moveable stretcher to a more suitable wider gurney. They heard orders issued, a shoe hit the ground and the sound of scissors cutting cloth.

"Please, ma'am, Major, wait here, someone'll come back as soon as we know something."

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected.

The nurse smiled sweetly, trying to disguise her puzzled expression.

"What about Dr. McKay?" Weir asked.

"Dr. Morrison is still with him in surgery. It is taking a little longer than he expected, but he is a very good surgeon. Dr. McKay is in good hands."

Sheppard quirked his mouth into a disbelieving grimace.

The nurse smiled apologetically and hurried toward the emergency area where soft platitudes were spoken in amongst abrupt orders.

——————————————————————

Sheppard sat beside Rodney's bed watching the oxygen mask fog and clear with each breath McKay took. His expression looked ghastly pale under the dim lights of the quiet infirmary.

An IV fed the back of Rodney's left hand--the hanging bag of clear fluids carrying a square orange sticker warning that medication had been added to the litre of fluids. A second IV fed his right hand--this bag was slightly smaller, more square than rectangle, with labels all its own, indicating what type of blood transfusion the astrophysicist was receiving.

"Should have known not to send you two out to an abandoned part of the city," Sheppard muttered, rubbing tiredly at his forehead.

He sat back, slumping heavily in his chair and allowing the back of his head to rest against the narrow roll that creased the top back of the chair.

He was brought out of his quiet reverie at the sound of an impatient raised voice.

"Carson, I don't need your cooperation." It sounded like Morrison. The man truly had no bed-side manner. He might have been a gifted surgeon and trained under the same team as Beckett had, but he lacked people skills. It seemed to Sheppard that Beckett managed the surgeon's slight flaws by keeping him away from conscious patients and leaving him basically to run the surgery suite while Carson and the tall dark doctor took care of the medical and basic surgery needs.

Sheppard listened intently for a response, and could hear the deep rumble of Beckett's voice but not the individual words.

"Dr. Beckett," Morrison warned from behind closed curtains.

Sheppard recognized the tone and slowly pushed himself wearily to his feet. Taking a stance like that with Beckett and especially McKay for that matter, would get no one anywhere but high blood pressure and a bleeding ulcer.

McKay was a menace all by himself. Beckett seemed to need a catalyst, Rodney apparently filled that role amazingly well. "Stay put, McKay," Sheppard ordered patting Rodney's shoulder and moving away from his unconscious friend.

Sheppard strode tiredly back to the cordoned off area and pushed the curtain aside.

"Problem back here, gentlemen?" Sheppard asked as he sauntered up beside Beckett's temporary bed.

"You don't belong back here, Major," Morrison stated, fighting to control his temper.

"Colonel," Sheppard gave him a crooked smile and then ignored him.

"How you feelin', Doc?" The colonel took inventory of the neat row of stitches that creased the hair line at the corner of Beckett's forehead and the blood that still caked the hard folds of his ear and the deep purple maroon of his swollen right eye. The nurses apparently weren't done scrubbing their patient clean. An ice pack rested on his lower shin and ankle, trying to reduce swelling that already forced maroon, black and blue toes apart.

"Rodney?" Beckett croaked softly, staring in Sheppard's general direction.

"I told you Carson, Dr. McKay is resting, like you should be doing after we get the imaging completed," Morrison explained, "if you just let me do my job, you'll be back on the road to recovery in no time."

Beckett ignored Morrison and stared at Sheppard with one partially opened eye.

"Sleeping," Sheppard answered, "why not let Morrison do his job so he can get done with you."

"Don't need sedation for imaging," Beckett uttered softly.

Sheppard raised his eyebrows at the standing surgeon.

Morrison heaved a tired sigh, "We tried. He won't stay still for it."

"I don't remember," Beckett muttered a touch of concern coloring his voice. He paused and added softly, "You sure you have the right bloody patient?"

Sheppard ducked his head to hide his smile. Morrison was going to blow a gasket.

"He's been slightly combative," Morrison stared pointedly at Sheppard trying to convey the importance of getting the diagnostics completed. The surgeon directed his attention back to his patient, "It's called short term memory loss, Dr. Beckett, brought about by a probable concussion. You'd know that but I suspect your brain is a little scrambled right now. I would like to be able to gather a little more information to make a proper diagnosis."

Sheppard could have sworn that Morrison spoke without moving his clenched teeth.

Without notice, Beckett suddenly turned his head, gripping desperately to the side of the gurney and began vomiting over his pillow, shoulder and arm.

Sheppard thought Morrison was going to bite through his lip as he reached down and gently rolled his boss further onto his side. Beckett continued to heave weakly over the over the bed and onto the floor. After a bit, Carson sagged into Morrison's supporting hands and rested his forehead on the white coated forearm. Fred Morrison, in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy, rubbed the back of his boss's shoulder.

A nurse quietly exchanged the soiled pillow with a crisp, clean one.

Sheppard stared at the open back of Beckett's hospital gown seeing the deep bruising that covered the doctor's upper back.

"Let me help you, Carson," Morrison softly said.

"I don't want to fall asleep," Beckett slurred back.

The surgeon eased his boss back onto the new pillow. A clammy sweat covered Carson's face and neck, plastering strands of hair to his skin.

Sheppard caught the surgeon's eye and simply nodded. He'd handle it.

The Colonel turned his attention back to Beckett. "Doc, why don't you let Dr. Morrison do his job? If you don't like it when you wake up you can send him home."

Morrison shot the colonel an exasperated look.

"No," Beckett staunchly refused.

"It's gone, Doc," Sheppard reassured. "Teyla, Ronan and I sent it back to whatever dark hole it was created from. It's not coming back."

"Carson, please," Morrison fitted the head of the needle into the IV port.

"No," Carson mumbled and tried to pull his hand away and would have succeeded if it had been the correct hand.

Sheppard looked to Morrison and saw that the man was close to exploding, "Doc, you know prime numbers?"

"Aye," Beckett answered.

Sheppard nodded to himself, "Ford threatened to beat Zelenka up once because Radek kept poking fun at him for getting them wrong." Sheppard paused and nodded to Morrison. "97 a prime number?"

"Aye," Beckett mumbled closing his good eye.

"What's the next two down?" Sheppard asked. He watched as Beckett licked his lips clearly trying to get his mind to wrap around the question.

Morrison injected the port.

" Ninety…" Beckett's focus wandered. He blinked heavily, struggled to open his eyes and stared wide eyed at Sheppard as if imploring the colonel to help him stay awake; too help him keep his guard; protect Rodney perhaps, and those in the infirmary. Carson felt the warm drug induce flush flare up his arm and flitter out through his veins to the rest of his body. "No, no, no, lad," Beckett mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes unrolled and heavy eyelids opened. He tried to roll toward Sheppard, seeking help, some sort of aid. An anchor.

The colonel placed a reassuring hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Its okay, Doc. Its going to be okay, trust me."

For a moment, Sheppard felt a flash of overwhelming guilt for distracting Beckett and allowing Morrison to strip Carson of what little security and control he felt. It seemed wrong; somehow a betrayal. The colonel watched as Beckett's eyes finally fluttered closed and the tense set of his muscles that Sheppard had not noticed before, visibly relaxed, succumbing to the drugs. Beckett's breathing evened out taking on a shallow, evenly repetitive cadence.

"Thankyou, Major," Morrison said preparing his now cooperative patient for further diagnostics.

Sheppard stood at the head of the gurney, his eyes staying on Beckett as if trying to will a sense of security and protection to his insensible friend.

"We'll take it from here, Major," Morrison stated clearly dismissing the outsider.

"It's 'Colonel'," Sheppard muttered and backed out of the way as imaging equipment was moved into place.

——————————————————————

"Colonel," Teyla's soft summons had Sheppard lifting his chin off his chest. He dropped his arms from across his chest and sat up stiffly in his chair. His black t-shirt was wrinkled and highlighted the unkempt appearance that cloaked the man. There was a chill in the air that seemed only to manifest when one was overtired and run down.

Telya gave the colonel a moment to get his bearings before continuing, "Dr. Beckett is stirring again."

Sheppard rubbed at his burning eyes with the palm of his hands and watched as Carson attempted to shift his uncasted leg and roll onto his side. Teyla gently guided him over, careful of the bruising on his upper body and keeping his IV line from becoming entangled in the sheet and blankets. She readjusted the nasal canula that slipped to the side of his face blowing oxygen against his swollen eye. In the past few hours, Beckett's movements had been accompanied by violent bouts of retching.

Teyla held the small metal basin should it be needed again.

This time however, instead of vomiting and hovering between incoherence and unintelligible mumbling, Carson slowly blinked his eye open and stared at John.

Sheppard wasn't sure if Beckett was actually seeing him for who he was or was just focusing on something his eye happened to notice first.

Sheppard found it unnerving.

Rodney had been the same way. McKay had drifted in out of unconsciousness, unaware of his surroundings, unaware of the people around him, mumbling for Sheppard, lifting a heavy hand and attempting to latch onto something, and at those times Sheppard simply grasped his hand and returned a steady, secure grip. McKay would settle back down and drift off, occasionally whispering O'Connor's or Sullivan's name or rattling off some inane equation that would probably save the universe sometime in the future.

Other times McKay wrestled weakly with the oxygen mask, pushing it askew on his face and swiping at it with heavy hands, forcing Sheppard to deflect Rodney's hand and replace the oxygen mask.

When Sheppard had been forced to leave for an hour and a half, Ronan had taken his place. Teyla never left.

Morrison had tromped his way through in the beginning, after he had finished with Beckett checking on his two patients. His bedside manner was as gruff as the man himself. It had only taken Ronan grabbing the surgeon's forearm once when he roughly manipulated Beckett's casted leg, to get Morrison to transfer the two patients over to 'Internal' and into the hands of the tall dark doctor with a name no one seemed to want to pronounce when Sheppard was present.

Sheppard was glad for Ronan's presence then, because John wasn't sure that if he had been there, he wouldn't have decked the man. The Colonel had spent part of the early morning supervising the recovery of O'Connor and Sullivan's bodies, or what was left of them. In that time, Sheppard marveled at just how lucky Rodney and Carson had been to have survived.

Now at 3am, he dozed between the two beds waiting to see who would stir next.

It was Beckett this time.

"Hey, Doc." Sheppard leaned forward in his chair and watched as Carson simply blinked at him.

"Do you think he knows where he is this time?" Teyla asked. Her concern had been palatable when earlier in the evening Beckett had failed to answer any of the attending's basic questions correctly. He wavered between Glasgow, Edinburgh, and some place called Thurso. Sheppard had originally mistaken him for saying, 'Thirsty' and that had almost been a fiasco in the making. The tall doctor had reassured them the disorientation and confusion were simply the lingering effects of the medication and an extremely stressful day combined with the concussion. It would pass. Imaging had proven clean all around, well except for the broken foot, courtesy of kicking an exoskeletal plated head repeatedly.

Teyla looked doubtful. She had seen some of her people survive such wounds and not ever be themselves again.

McKay had been worse and simply responded to every question asked of him with a dismissive slurred, "go away," or simply didn't register the questions and called blindly for 'Sheppard.' The attending again assured them it would pass.

Sheppard was fairly confident this time that Beckett was truly with him and not lingering under the heavy effects of whatever medication they had loaded him up with.

"You and Rodney are going to be alright," Sheppard reassured, quirking a half smile. His smile broadened slightly at Beckett's furrowed brow. Carson was back, reacting appropriately to things around him.

Teyla looked relieved.

"He's right here," Sheppard moved his chair back a little and gave Beckett an unobstructed view of Rodney who still slept under the heavy sedative effects of painkillers, blood loss and a hellacious day. McKay had yet to awaken fully. Morrison didn't expect him to come around properly until full morning.

The colonel waited patiently as Carson stared at Rodney as if trying to put pieces together. He turned his half hooded, glazed eye back at Sheppard.

"I don't remember," Beckett mumbled. His words were thick and barely articulated. He swiped absently as the nasal canula with a heavy hand. Sheppard reached forward and gently grabbed his wrist placing it back on the bed.

"Don't worry about it, Doc," Sheppard reassured, "get some rest, it's too early to be awake." He watched slightly amused as Beckett dutifully closed his eye and drifted off to sleep.

——————————————————————

"Am I dead?"

"No, you're not dead," a chuckling voice replied, "though you'll probably owe Morrison a thank-you note."

"Morrison is a moron."

"He saved your ass," the voice sounded familiar.

"Carson saved my ass," McKay's eyes blinked open on their own.

"Welcome back."

McKay tried rolling his head so he could face the direction that the voice came from but found he didn't have the strength to move. "Oh God, I'm paralyzed—Morrison, Mcfumble fingers, strikes again."

"McKay, you keep that up and no one will work to save your ass the next time you meet up with the monster from the black lagoon." It was Sheppard's voice. McKay felt a wave of relief saturate his bones. _They'd be safe now._ The thought sparked to the forefront of his mind without his understanding.

Rodney paused, fighting to get his vision to focus as mental images flashed through his mind like a child's viewfinder. "Carson!"

"Easy, easy," hands gently held McKay flush to the bed, "Carson's fine, he's already back in his own quarters." Sheppard's chuckling features slowly worked their way into focus. "You've been sleeping on your dead ass for two days, McKay, was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up until Christmas."

"Sullivan and O'Connor," McKay started to say but Sheppard interrupted him.

"Taken care of," The smile dipped and pained look crossed his features for just a brief moment. "Daedalus is here. Everyone's at the mail run, figured you and me could enjoy some confiscated Snickers but seeing as you're still on an IV diet, I'll eat yours for you." Sheppard's face split with a genuine smile at McKay's put upon expression.

"You're a dead man," McKay muttered out, shifting carefully on the bed trying to find a comfortable position and failing miserably. His eyes grew heavy and sleep was quickly reclaiming its reign.

"Tough talk for a man who can't even stay awake," Sheppard pointed out.

"Won't last," McKay promised as his eyes slid closed.

——————————————————————

Beckett hobbled delicately into the cafeteria and stood quietly against the wall, slipping his crutches out from under his arms. He folded his forearms across their padded tops and leaned heavily against them, listening as names were called and mail was handed out.

Major Lorne, standing near the back, noticed the chief medical officer. He leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of someone sitting in front of him, whispered in his ear and then nodded his head in the direction of the Beckett. Without hesitation, the person Major Lorne spoke to and the person adjacent both stood and let the major take their chairs.

Lorne offered his thanks and carried the two chairs toward the CMO who stood wearily, his chin resting on his forearms unaware of anything around him but the names being called. A deep bruise still curled and stretched around the Scot's swollen eye and partially down his cheek. It felt wrong to see the Doc bruised like a boxer pushed one round too many by a careless trainer.

"Hey Doc, why don't you take a seat and put your leg up," he offered placing the two chairs down next to the physician.

"Aye, thanks, lad," Beckett smiled tiredly and gingerly eased himself down into the chair with a soft groan, with the majors solid grip as a guide. He paused for a moment catching a shallow breath before carefully lifting his leg, aiding it with his hands and the Major's help onto the second chair. Though the cast stopped just under his knee, it felt surprisingly heavier than he had remembered previous such casts.

Lorne took the crutches and scrutinized the doctor for a moment. The stretched skin over the swollen eye appeared to be pulled uncomfortably tight. Pigment had begun to bleed down the side of his face. The stitches along the corner of his forehead were still puffy and tender looking with a thin crust of golden serum along the jaggered edges. Despite the extra color the man appeared pale and exhausted.

"You look kind of rough around the edges, Doc. You supposed to be up and about yet?" He leaned against of Carson's crutches and mimicked the doctor's stance of only a few moments before. His thoughts wandered back to a few days past. He and a few others had helped Colonel Sheppard collect Sullivan and O'Connor. It had been a brutally violent scene, one he wished never to witness again. Especially of friends.

Major Lorne was at mail call today to intercept any letters or packages that might have been sent to the two young men.

"Thanks, laddie, I appreciate the compliment," Beckett returned with a touch of snappishness the younger man did not deserve. Carson felt a twinge of regret and tried to dig up the energy and strength to utter an apology.

"It's alright Doc, no worries," Lorne interrupted the apology before it took shape. It was a standing joke among the military personnel that you could read Dr. Beckett like an open book. So far no one had been able to wrangle the good doctor into a game of five card stud.

Carson carefully leaned back in his chair and felt his heart clench as names were read off alphabetically. His stomach remained unsettled and silently wondered if he would ever feel well again. He stayed until the M's. His despondency grew as he realized that perhaps his suspicions about home were true. With a soft sigh, he carefully tried pushing himself to his feet. He wasn't ready to hear Joey Sullivan or Sean O'Connor get called and know they'd never respond. Carson was thankful for the strong hand of support as the Major helped ease him out of chair.

He stood and suddenly everything greyed. The grip around his upper arm tightened and took more of his weight than he wanted to share. He felt the solid wall against his back.

He could hear Lorne speaking to him but couldn't make out the words through the smothering mist of swirling grey.

Carson paused, waiting for the dizziness and deafening roaring to abate. He kept his eyes closed and let saliva pool in his mouth as nausea gurgled ominously just behind the lump in his throat.

"You gonna be okay, Doc?" Lorne whispered, "want me to call one of your guys?"

"No, no, just give me a bit," Carson muttered sagging heavily against the wall with eyes closed and head bowed. After a moment, the ringing subsided, his vision cleared and his stomach settled a little.

The steady sure grip on his arm offered more support than he cared to admit he needed.

"Aye, thanks lad," Carson whispered out, gathering his crutches from the younger man. He leaned on them heavily, gathered his resolve and started his way carefully past Lorne.

He left the cafeteria and her jubilant crowd of mail recipients. His shoulders hurt nearly as much as his head and foot. His palms felt bruised and his back ached mercilessly. He felt tired and run down but just uncomfortable enough that true sleep eluded him.

Major Lorne kept concerned eyes on the doctor and watched as Beckett hobbled gingerly down the corridor. Worry for the doctor gnawed at his gut, he looked run down and exhausted. Lorne felt compelled to walk with Beckett, make sure the man made it to where ever it was he was going. The major took a breath and steeled himself. He stayed in the cafeteria; he'd find Colonel Sheppard later and talk to him, maybe Sheppard would know how to help the doc. Lorne slowly turned his attention back to the crowd and the voices being called. He had duties to his men, both the living and the dead and their families. He needed to intercept letters from home.

Beckett shuffled down the hall hearing the sharp call of names and the ecstatic small clusters of clapping as people were called and letters and packages handed out.

His heart lurched to his throat. He desperately missed his mum, and it embarrassed him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

Nights in Atlantis, though quieter, did not hold the same type of easy peace that one felt back on earth. There always seemed to be a subtle underlying tension present.

"Radek," Sheppard called when he saw McKay's second in command and the Canadian who had replaced Grodin, heading toward the gate room, "wait up a second."

Zelenka dutifully stopped and waited, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Sheppard figured someone as smart as the Czech would have figured out how to fix a set of glasses and keep them sitting properly on his face.

Sheppard jogged up to them. He saw the apprehension in the new man, "Hey, You ahh, you did a good job the other day---A real good job." The colonel offered a half smile that slowly blossomed as look of relief crossed the new man's face. "You want to give Radek and me a second?" Grodin's replacement nodded, looking quietly pleased, and continued toward the gate room.

"Yes, Major," Zelenka asked patiently. He stared at Sheppard who stared at the new man disappearing into the gate room. _Someone really needs to befriend that guy._

"Colonel," McKay corrected automatically, snapping his attention back to Zelenka. "What's been eating at Dr. Beckett?"

Zelenka stared at Sheppard and was about to redirect the question but was interrupted.

"Don't give me any bullshit about not knowing--you know something, so just spill it," Sheppard stated in a tone that left no mistake as to the seriousness of the question.

"Last month there were large explosions in Thurso, many died." Zelenka stated in a quiet voice.

Sheppard stared the Czech scientist, "Thurso? Beckett mumbled that name a few times, thought he was thirsty."

Zelenka chuckled, "Strange name indeed. It is his town, his mother and relatives live there. He has not heard from them. This is second mail call and no mail from home. Mrs. Beckett writes her son every mail call. I fear they may have been some of those that fell to the explosions."

"Shit," Sheppard whispered leaning a shoulder against the wall, "why didn't he say something?"

"What is there to say?" Radek asked.

"Anything!" Sheppard snapped back. "He could've said something."

"There is nothing anyone can do but wait," Zelenka pointed out. "He waits. I fear however, it has been two mail deliveries and no news; that is not good."

"No," Sheppard agreed, "Hey, how'd you know?" Colonel asked not sure if he wanted to know that Beckett confided in some and not others and that somehow he and Rodney made the long list of non confidants.

"My brother, he fishes North Sea, knows of Thurso," Zelenka said by way of explanation.

Sheppard nodded distractedly, "Thanks, Radek."

"How is Rodney?"

"He's good," Sheppard paused, "when he's sleeping, when he's awake, he's dying."

Zelenka laughed, "That is good; he is mending."

The physicist nodded his farewell and left.

——————————————————————

Sheppard headed toward Beckett's lab with a small open cardboard box that had seen better days. The Daedalus had headed out only an hour ago. Corporal Davis of the Daedalus had caught up with Sheppard just before the corporal had to ship out and handed him the small opened box. It held a stack of letters bound together by a rubber band. One letter sat apart and was dirty and creased and had all the appearance of being mishandled.

Corporal Davis had stammered and stuttered out an explanation. He had found one letter folded into one of the creases of the canvas bags they used to haul mail last delivery. It was dated over a month ago. The corporal went on to explain he hadn't noticed the letter until the Daedalus had made its run back to Earth last time and when he was filling it with this delivery of letters for this trip he had found it.

It was addressed to Dr. Carson Beckett. It was a woman's handwriting, cursive and neat. It belonged to someone who took great care in their penmanship. Like a mother. Sheppard felt his anger rising. Corporal Davis went on to explain that he had pulled the letter aside and all the other letters addressed to Dr. Beckett, remarking that it seemed half of Scotland was writing to the good doctor. Sheppard simply pointed out, Beckett had a 'bucketful of uncles'. Davis nodded and explained how he had planned on hand delivering them to the Doctor with a personal apology but Dr. Beckett had left the cafeteria before Davis could reach him.

The Daedalus was leaving, Colonel Caldwell was punctual if nothing else. The corporal implored Colonel Sheppard to deliver the letters with his sincerest apologies.

Sheppard took the small box full of letters covered with different penmanships and colored envelopes. He gave Davis a small smile and a reassuring "no problem" and headed toward the geneticist's lab.

Sheppard kept the old creased envelope separate. It didn't seem to contain anything fancy like a card or pictures, just simple sheets of paper. Sometimes it seemed it was the simplicity in which a mother reached out that was often more touching than the actual words. The colonel wondered about his own mother and quickly dismissed the thought.

Sheppard paused at the door and took a breath before raising his hand to activate its opening.

He entered the lab and stood in the doorway. The lab was empty except for Beckett. Carson normally gave his people the afternoon and evening off when mail delivery came. He had said it was safer that way for everyone and their work.

Sheppard surveyed the empty room, noting the cluttered bench tops. He furrowed his brow when he noticed one crutch leaning against a hood across the room and the second one on the opposite side of the room propped up in a corner. The colonel tilted his head to the side just a bit but didn't bother trying to figure it out.

He watched the CMO as he peered into his microscope and then scribbled notes into a lined spiral ring notebook without looking. Beckett at one point pulled his eyes away from the scope and closed them, pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his teeth as if trying to garner control of something that nearly slipped away.

"Carson," Sheppard called, feeling he was intruding, but knowing it was necessary. He watched slightly amused as Beckett's head snapped up in surprise. The internal fight that had been creasing his bruised features was swept away with a quick dimpled smile.

Sheppard wasn't sure if he was hurt or angry that Carson took such efforts to hide his misery from him.

"Ahh, Colonel, to what do I owe the pleasure of the visit?---Rodney still insulting my staff when he is awake?" Carson stayed away from the infirmary fearing that he would be corralled into lying down and resting. He didn't want to rest; he didn't want to stop working. If he did, his thoughts wandered back to Scotland and his family. The images of home would spark the persistent nausea to an almost unbearable level. If he closed his eyes, occasional disjointed images of being in a dark duct dragging Rodney would flash to the forefront and leave him with his heart racing, sweat on his brow and headache pounding behind his eyes.

He hurt too much to lie down and feared what he'd see if he shut his eyes for any amount of time. Sleep didn't seem worth the pain at the moment.

"Yup, but that's not why I'm here," Sheppard answered and walked across the cluttered lab. He scrutinized the doctor, appreciating the exhaustion that draped the other man like a second skin. Sheppard couldn't help him piece his memories together of the time in the abandoned part of the city but perhaps he could help relieve Beckett of his other worries. He figured it was just a matter of time before Beckett's body just shut down and he slept. When that happened, Sheppard would be sure to have Teyla or Ronan or Zelenka or himself be there. Until then, he'd stand back and let Beckett handle things his own way.

"Corporal Davis wanted me to deliver these to you, said he wanted to do it personally and apologize but couldn't find you after mail call."

"Here you go," Sheppard slid the box onto the lab counter top and then handed the folded, crinkled plain white envelope out to the doctor.

Sheppard felt a surge of discomfort at seeing Beckett go pale and eyes suddenly water. He gave the doctor credit for holding it together and sparing them both an uncomfortable awkward moment.

The colonel saved the man from having to speak, saved him the embarrassment should his voice break. "Davis was real sorry about it."

Beckett reached out a hesitant hand, his finger tips scabbed and cracked from being dragged off the apron and into the water. "Ahh, mum," he whispered, checking the date. "You're alright," he mumbled, holding the envelope in his shaking hand.

"Looks like all of Thurso and then some dropped you a line," John nudged the box which tore Beckett's attention from the battered envelope to the box full of different size and shaped letters and cards.

Beckett reached a hesitant hand into the box and fingered the letters, not really concentrating on one.

The colonel recognized that Beckett's whole world became focused on the box and its content and the simple letter from his mother. There was no need for him to stay and truly become an intruder.

Sheppard headed back to the door. It slid open and, as he stepped through, he stopped and turned. "You should of said something, Carson," Sheppard pointed out, "we're friends, you should have told us."

Beckett looked up from his mother's missive and stared at the colonel with blood shot eyes that swam in their own unshed moisture. "There was nothing to tell."

Sheppard nodded without truly agreeing and left Beckett in the privacy of his lab.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

McKay sat up in bed, carefully eating red Jello. The rest of the city was eating premium groceries from Earth and he was stuck with red Jello. Not even blue. Blue was his favorite. _But oh no, his nurse gave him red._ Carson really needed to talk to his staff about keeping patients happy.

He scowled at Sheppard, who sat beside him eating a steak and cheese submarine sandwich which oozed grilled ions and peppers and messy globs of yellow cheese.

McKay plotted his revenge as his Jello jiggled off his spoon and back into the bowl to wiggle next to the other squares.

Sheppard laughed around a mouthful of steak and cheese, being careful to keep the soggy bread from dripping off his plate and onto his legs.

The sounds of a step followed by a clump and a step then clump were heard.

"He lost them already?" Sheppard mumbled around a mouthful of steak

"You seen'im since you dropped off his letters?"

"Yeah, he finally passed out in his quarters for about four hours. Ronan made himself welcome in there and played with models of molecules and some other weird shit Doc's collected." Sheppard opened his mouth wide and shoved another heavy bite into his mouth. Juice ran down his chin and from the soggy bottom of the bread.

"You're disgusting," McKay muttered. "You learn that from Ronan?"

Sheppard mumbled and nodded, trying to swallow some of what was in his mouth so he could take a sip of his soda. Coke was suddenly the nectar of the Gods and was something they could cut Zelenka's moonshine with when they met for Friday night 'meetings'.

The two watched as Beckett hobbled into the infirmary reading a letter and laughing. "The daftie," he chuckled, "there isn't no way he's gonna get Malcolm to go along with that scheme." Beckett walked deeper into the room intent on his letter and unaware of the hostile looks he was garnering from his medical staff as he headed for his office.

"Carson, that's not a walking cast," the quiet, unassuming, dark skinned doctor straightened up from his computer monitor adopting an air of intimidation.

Sheppard and McKay both leaned back against their respective back rests to watch the show.

Beckett merely nodded still absorbed in his letter. "Oh, uncle Liam is going to nail his hide to barn door," he chuckled, flipping the letter over and then upside down to continue reading.

"Carson!" The dark skinned doctor raised his voice.

Sheppard and McKay both shared surprised looks. They had never heard that man raise his voice.

"Aye, laddie, what is the problem?" Beckett asked, peering up from his letter, an easy smile lighting his face.

"Your crutches? Where are your crutches?"

Sheppard and McKay snickered as Beckett peered down at his sides as if suddenly realizing he didn't have them and looked around the room as if searching for them, "I have no idea? Do you?"

"Get your butt in a chair and put that leg up until I wrangle up another set."

"Aye, you're a bit growly this evening, lad," Carson pointed out and then simply turned his direction toward McKay and Sheppard.

"Rodney, how's the side?" Beckett pulled a chair out from against the wall and settled it near the foot of Rodney's bed, still reading one of his letters.

"I'm fine, when do I get to eat real food?" McKay asked, trying to scoop up another wiggling jello square.

Beckett looked up from his letter, "Red? I thought you preferred blue?"

"Shut up, Carson," McKay snapped.

"You get through all of'em, Doc?" Sheppard asked, jutting his chin toward the letter.

"No, it'll take some time, Auntie Reynolds, here, is a bit wordy, but she can spin a yarn. Says here cousin Peter bet our second cousin Henry he couldn't jump ole Flash over the stock tanks." Carson looked up and shook his head, "he can't, Flash is afraid of water. He'd rather go down a ravine and walk three miles than cross a creek. But she said Henry gave it a try. But poor Flash hooked a leg, ended up in the lambing pen. Seems Henry broke his fall with his ribs on the fence, busted out the dams and the wee ones got out all over the countryside." Beckett laughed, "Uncle Liam'll keel haul'em." The doctor paused thinking about something and then returned his attention back to the two men, "Not too sure that's worth a pint of Guiness down the pub. Though Harrison keeps a mighty fine pub, indeed."

"Sounds like a good group," Sheppard remarked.

"Aye, they're some of the best; a bit daft at times, but hard working."

Beckett leaned back in his chair and folded his letter away, "I never wrote mum this time around, she'll worry. I should've wrote something."

"Heck, doc, not to worry. Rodney, Zelenka and I wrote your mom and sent them off before the Daedalus could leave. Seems the Daedalus was delayed do to some computer snafu or something." Sheppard's mischievous smile landed on Rodney.

McKay leaned back against his pillows with a self satisfied smile, "Well, if they ran regular maintenance checks like they should have, they might have been able to prevent such things from happening. Colonel Caldwell should really know better."

Carson stared from one man to the other, "You wrote my mum?"

"Well, damn Carson, if she mopes around anything like you do, the people in your little town would probably all pack up and head out."

Beckett narrowed his eyes at the two men, "What'd you write?"

"That's personal," Rodney pointed out.

Sheppard slouched down in his chair and propped his legs up on Rodney's bed. McKay scowled and tried to nudge Sheppard's legs away with his blanketed knee. The colonel ignored him and spoke to Beckett. "Well I told her you were an okay guy; how good looking I am; how much I like her cooking." Sheppard clearly hoped Mrs. Beckett picked up the hint. Knowing her son though, he was worried. He continued, "it was a heck of a lot better than what McKay wrote. His read like a resume. Poor lady's eyes are going to bleed when she reads his dry chicken scratch. Zelenka talked about his brother that fishes somewhere up there, occasionally docks off Thurso in bad weather."

Carson just stared at the two men, "You wrote my mum?" He leaned back in his chair with his light yellow casted leg propped up on Rodney's bed next to Sheppard's crossed ankles. He stared at the ceiling, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Sheppard answered.

"Hey, do I look like a foot stool?" McKay grumbled once again trying to knock Sheppard's feet off his bed.

"No, more like an ottoman," Beckett chuckled.

"Not a very comfortable one either," Sheppard remarked sliding his feet just out of McKay's range; to drive the man nuts.

McKay harrumphed and settled back against his pillows, taking his small plastic bowl of Jello with him.

"Maybe she'll send a bigger care package next time around," Rodney hoped, stabbing futilely at his Jello. "Make up for last month of not getting one."

Beckett smiled and stared at the ceiling for a bit before allowing his eyes to settle close.

——————————————————————

**A month later **

Dr. Beckett held his medium sized cardboard box with a letter lying free on top. A grin stretched from ear to ear. He was the envy of the city on mail day.

He settled back in his chair, not listening to the names that were called as he stared at the box hardly able to wait to open it in private.

He rubbed his good foot absently against his slightly charred cast. He caught his shoe on the corner of the duct tape that began to peel from the patch job he had done on the heel. He absently scratched at his shin where he had cut the wedge out of the cast to facilitate the flexing of his knee and to stop the ache that had begun weeks ago. He wouldn't let them change his cast, he had it broken in to where it was almost comfortable.

Carson snapped his head up when he heard McKay's name get called. When McKay remained rooted in place, Davis was forced to repeat it. It took Sheppard nudging the man in the ribs to get him to stand. Beckett watched as McKay stood up, bowed to the applause and ambled up to receive his almost unexpected package. Carson had hoped his mum would write his friend back. Rodney never got mail. It was a sad fact of life. Beckett chuckled, pleased to see the cheeky grin that was plastered on McKay's face. He was going to be insufferable now.

"Who sent you something?" Sheppard asked, trying to lean over Rodney's shoulder and read the return address of the letter and box as McKay took his seat.

"Mrs. Beckett," McKay answered glibly, pulling his mail in closer to his body, shielding it from the Colonel's potentially 'sticky' fingers. "Guess she liked my letter better after all."

Sheppard was about to retort when his name was called. In no time he too returned with a similar box and letter.

"Hey, what'd you get?" McKay asked slightly concerned.

"Get your paws off my stuff," Sheppard tucked his box partially under his arm and turned slightly away, protecting his mail with his body. "Think maybe she appreciated my friendly turn of phrase, better than yours," the colonel taunted.

Beckett watched them, not sure if he liked the idea that his mother was sending those two care packages and letters.

The three some sat in the back and tried to judge, without opening their plain brown, slightly re-used cardboard boxes, who had the better box.

The three immediately shut up when Zelenka's name was called and he too returned with a similar box marred with old tape scars, from Mrs. Beckett. Radek smiled triumphantly at the others, "Perhaps she enjoys missives from a fellow fisherman."

"She's just being polite to you two," McKay stated keeping his box close and letter tightly gripped in his other hand.

"Uh huh," Sheppard dismissed. He pushed himself off the wall, "I'm gonna see you boys later, I've got mail to open," Sheppard smiled smugly, shaking his box but suddenly froze. "Damn this is heavy," he stated with concern. A knowing smile and pleased gaze met McKay's narrowing eyes. "She must like me better."

"She does not." Rodney snapped back, following the Colonel out of the cafeteria with throngs of others. "I'm the genius."

"She's not gonna care about that. She raised Carson, he's freakishly smart like you," Sheppard explained.

Beckett raised his eyebrows at the comment, not sure if he felt insulted or complimented.

"He doesn't count, that's not science. It's---it's---it's like voodoo," McKay explained with disgust dripping from every stuttered word.

Beckett decided he felt insulted.

"Think what you like McKay, but my package is bigger," Sheppard returned with a leery tone.

"Oh, that's just juvenile," McKay's response floated back to Beckett and Zelenka.

"Your mother is a kind lady," Zelenka said, placing his letters from home in his coat pocket and hefting his care package from Scotland.

"Aye, that she is," Beckett answered softly. He pushed himself to his feet and gathered his letters, the pile not near as large as last month.

"When does the rest of cast come off?" Zelenka walked beside the doctor at the CMO's pace. There was a running tally to see if the cast would last the full eight weeks, fall apart, or if Carson would just finish cutting it completely off instead of a piece at a time.

They were working on four weeks and already the cast was duct taped, partially charred thanks to Rodney and one of his requests to test an ancient device, and had significant pieces cut out of it.

"I know of your betting pool, Radek," Beckett chuckled. The two followed the moving crowd down the hall, heading for their respective labs and living quarters.

Tonight there would be a congealing of different groups who would spend part of the evening swapping and trading items from their care packages for something someone else had received.

O'Connor was always good for candy bars, something called 'Take Fives'. He had detested them but his mother sent them anyhow. He used to trade with Franklin from the linguistic group for Pop Tarts. Sullivan used to trade Rice Krispy Treats for Beckett's Chupa Chups lollies. Beckett still couldn't understand what Joey Sullivan loved about that particular brand of lolly. This time he would keep his lollies and perhaps hand them out the Athosian kids when they came in for treatment for whatever small calamity that befell them.

The crowed had thinned and dispersed as he and Zelenka rounded the corridor. They were in time to hear McKay and Sheppard arguing over their mail and what the letters might contain and who Mrs. Beckett thought wrote the best letter.

"Good luck, Dr. Beckett," Zelenka whispered solemnly, he turned right at this juncture to get to his quarters.

Carson nodded, took a breath and then continued forward, "Thanks." He watched as Sheppard made a half hearted grab for McKay's box, but McKay gracefully side stepped it and twisted away.

Beckett noted the movement and was pleased to see that Rodney's wound had healed so completely.

His heart raced at the flashing image of the black scaled monster that had nearly killed them.

He held his care package a little tighter, feeling strange sense of comfort from it. He continued down the corridor toward the badgering duo.

"Mum always had the dreadful habit of feeding strays," Beckett mumbled shaking his head as he hobbled past the two men, "never could keep her from it. Uglier and needier they were, the more she took'em in." Carson sighed and ignored the two men who stopped their foolishness and stared back at him. He released a put upon sigh, "Think she's found two more." He shook his head despondently and kept walking. His cast made a soft thud as the thinned and missing fiberglass and cotton padding hidden under layers of duct tape made contact with the floor.

"He call us strays?" Sheppard asked.

"I think just you," McKay confirmed.

"No, you were included." Sheppard clarified.

The two stared at one another and then the receding back of the Doctor, "Hey!"

The two jogged to catch up with the slowly ambling doctor. McKay gave Beckett's shoulder a push as Sheppard shoved Beckett's head forward.

"Strays my ass," Sheppard muttered.

"I'm a genius, not some flea infested barn cat," McKay clarified.

The three disappeared down the hall unconcerned for the moment of what dangers lay ahead of them in the future.

-The end.


End file.
